


Technicalities

by Doxx



Series: Loopholes [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Caning, Canonical Character Death, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Dildos, Dirty Talk, M/M, Masochism, Massage, Masturbation, Object Insertion, Riding Crops, Voice Kink, background Anders/Hawke, wine porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:45:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 122,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1647494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doxx/pseuds/Doxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian and Fenris explore the technicalities of Sebastian's vows, and find some extremely interesting (and kinky) loopholes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part two of the Loopholes series.
> 
> You do not have to have read the first (Flowing like Verse) to enjoy this (i am well aware that watersports are not everyone's cup of tea, but there is no more watersports in this series).  
> All you need to know is that Sebastian and Fenris have found a spark between them whilst at the Chantry, and each is keen to explore ingenious ways to get round Sebastian's vows.
> 
> Spoilers for Dragon Age 2

The mansion was unusually warm, as if Fenris had set the fire blazing well in advance of Sebastian's evening visit. A warm glow washed over the dust and bones, and they sat, nearby the fireplace but not so close as to get uncomfortable. 

There were deep scores in the dust, from when Fenris must have dragged the table and extra chair to join the armchair he favoured. Sebastian felt less foolish for fretting over the shirt he was going to wear, as it seemed apparent his invitation had caused Fenris to also plan frantically for his arrival. Since Fenris had politely enquired if he was free that evening, voice devoid of any hint at the 'incident' in the chantry gardens, Sebastian had been able to think of little else. 

Fenris had not been deterred that Sebastian had vows, had not sought to entice him to break them. Unlike Isabella, who seemed so fond of bringing Blooming Rose workers, male and female, to the Hanged Man and setting them on the archer like a pack of dogs. He also had an niggling inclination that Varric was contributing to the cost of their debauched amusement, catching the dwarf pass coin under the table to land in Isabella's skirts. The others were equally unsympathetic to his ridicule, Hawke himself laughing louder than any when, polite as he was able, Sebastian was forced to ask the young lady or gent to please remove themselves from his lap/ their tongue from his ear/ their hand from down his trousers.

Truth be told, the only reason he'd visited the Hanged Man was for the chance to see Fenris, the elf being so focused when out hunting thieves or slavers any conversation was curt and functional. After battle was worse, Fenris usually in a foul mood that Anders had applied healing magic to him, or scowling that Merrill was trying to engage him in that elvish artefact she harboured in her dwelling.

Despite the long-dead corpses and cobwebs littering the halls and corners of the mansion, it was altogether much more civil to see Fenris alone. Even if his heart was pounding fit to burst.

Fenris, who had been watching the prince carefully as he entered, gestured to a bottle of wine and pair of glasses. Sebastian, to show temperance, did not often partake, but he saw the label and his eyes widened at the thought of actually drinking Claret from the fabled South Winds winery. Plus, he reasoned as he gave a nod, he was saving Fenris from having to drink the whole bottle himself.

Fenris poured himself a glass, and drank, lips curling round the glass as he tipped the liquid down his throat. Sebastian kept his face free of any distaste at the lack of appreciation, and wondered if he had not misunderstood, Fenris seeming unwilling to offer him his own glass. 

He'd learnt to recognise the tightness that drew across the elf's face when he was thinking of how to broach a topic difficult to him. He settled back, giving Fenris the time he needed to contemplate his words, and smiled to encourage him.

"Danarius... used to have me pour for his guests..... " He trailed off, and Sebastian instantly understood. He reached over, and poured himself a small measure of the deep red vintage. He raised it in thanks to his host, and took a sip. He could have tried to reassure, or even apologise that Fenris had been forced to explain, but the way the elf settled into the chair told him such things were not necessary.

Small talk too, would be an unwelcome distraction, as they both knew why they were there. Fenris, after a shared moment in the chantry gardens, had suggested that they explore Sebastian's vows, so that they might find the technicalities not explicitly covered. He'd seemed as intrigued by the notion as Sebastian, but while the archer prince had some very good ideas of what he'd like to do to the lithe, lyrium'd elf, he'd so far found it hard to see how his vows would allow him such... leniency.

"I am glad you came." Fenris began, eyes fixed upon Sebastian's, "I would... learn more of the specifications of the vows you took...."

Sebastian took a breath, and sipped again at the wine. "Yes... Of course..." He thought back to the exact wording, the way Elthina had him repeat them over and over, till they sounded sincere to her ears. It had been hours before she was satisfied, and had offered her blessing to him as a member of the chantry. At the time, he'd suspected that Elthina did not trust him because of his past, but now, after working by her side for the best part of a year, saw that it seemed that she harboured inherent distrust of men in general. That a male was not permitted high station in the chantry, seemed only to feed her bias.

"I am not to touch or be touched, in a manner which is explicit..." He recited, remembering how even the word explicit seemed to colour the dear lady's cheeks. It was partly that he had grinned at the sight at the time, which had caused the high cleric to doubt his dedication.

"I am not permitted the act of fornication, so that I am pure in the eye of the maker. There's more, but it is generally spiritual, attending daily prayers, spreading the chant of light.... and so on "

Fenris looked thoughtful, and finished his glass in a smooth gulp. He poured himself a second, and regarded Sebastian carefully.  
"I trust you will tell me if I risk you breaking your vows... We may have to find out what exactly is explicit touching, but I think I get the gist. Do you still wish to continue, I would not endanger our friendship."

The word 'friendship' did not come easily to Fenris, the archer could see the way his throat tightened as he spoke, as if he might choke on the concept. Sebastian felt his mouth go dry, that Fenris would call him a friend meant a great deal, but that if he was reading the tone of his words correctly, Fenris seemed more than willing to work around his vows, and even seemed keen that Sebastian not break them.

"I would be honoured to continue."

Fenris smiled, and Sebastian was struck on how easy it seemed to come to the elf, who put on such a show of broodiness that it sometimes appeared as if his face might spilt into pieces should he ever wear anything but a disapproving scowl. That could of had something to do with spending quite so much time with Hawke, and his stubborn insistence of collecting stray magi, no matter what abominations they hide beneath their skin, or dark magics they worked. Sebastian himself did not agree with Hawke's choice of companion, and had often thought of quietly tipping off the templar to where they might find a certain elvish blood mage, or scruffy apostate. It had been Fenris who had pointed out quietly that Hawke would likely be displeased, and that when Hawke was displeased things tended to get stabbed repeatedly with those rather deadly daggers. So Sebastian had held his tongue, and slowly came to respect that Hawke seemed able to keep both Merrill and Anders under control.

By unspoken accord though, he and Fenris both watched the two mages closely, lest they slip down the path of dark power and demons, dragging Hawke with them.

Fenris gave a brief nod, and then, there was that tightness in his jaw again, something that Sebastian, in the privacy of his own head, had come to call Danarius's noose. An ethereal cord that still held sway over the freed slave, that Fenris fought against, but still tainted his thoughts and behaviours. Sebastian would dearly like to have Danarius in his sights one day, and respond to his seemingly unending curse upon Fenris with an arrow through his skull. The magister, perhaps not so fortunately, had yet to make an appearance, and so the unresolved threat of him still hung over Fenris, like knotted rope about to tighten to a chokehold.

Sebastian would grant Fenris all the time he needed to unravel those knots, but he had a feeling time would make no difference. He would not normally advocate revenge as a measure to grant piece to an individual, the chantry and scriptures preaching that temperance and love would solve all wrongs in the world, but he knew himself the heated pain that only blood could sooth. He'd slept restless until he knew his family's murderers had paid for their crimes, and he felt that only when Danarius was dead could Fenris finally shuck his chains and move on. As a fellow fighter, used to dealing death in defence, he knew that there were some hurts that simple verse could not mend. He and Elthina had argued, at length, about the merits and disadvantages of seeking justice by bloody resolution, and reached impasse. The compromise had been that Sebastian himself was not permitted (by his vows again, that he would only draw bow in self-defence, and never in anger) to hunt down the mercenary group, but instead enlist outside help, and leave it to the maker that someone might respond.

He was ever thankful, that by the maker's grace, he had met Hawke, and by extension, Fenris.

The elf looked decidedly uncomfortable, and had drained his second glass whilst Sebastian had been lost in contemplation. Finally, in a voice that spoke of self-doubt and lingering demons of his past, the elf turned to the prince; "I will need to think on this.... But I am more than intrigued. Will you permit me your patience?"

"Always Fenris." Sebastian answered as gently as he was able, his mouth suddenly dry and akin to the contents of a tinderbox that Fenris was willing to give such thought to the situation, unusual in the very least.

They spoke of other things, deliberately not touching upon the subject of vows and how they might circumvent them, but at the same time heartening, the evening winding long and easily past the last embers of the fire. Fenris looked mournfully at his glass, and was about to rise for a third bottle, when Sebastian stood to go, and save Fenris from the fierce hangover that would surely follow the next morning if he was allowed to continue his consumption. They parted ways, Sebastian having learnt that Fenris was not able to read, and then divulged that he was about as musically gifted as a cat caught in a bear-trap, and could not bring himself to mar the hymns that they sung so frequently at the chantry. They had laughed together, and it had felt good to not be the brunt of a joke, but rather sharing his depths without fear of being made a mockery of. He felt confident that Fenris felt the same.

As soon as he was out on the street, Sebastian found himself looking forward to their next meeting.

***

It turned out, Fenris had apparently done his thinking in the course of one night. In between bouts with enthralled muggers down in the docks, he and Fenris made arrangements to meet at Fenris's abode, after Sebastian's evening prayers. Fenris had smiled, to show that Sebastian would approve of his decision, and the archer had been able to concentrate on little else since. He'd not even noticed Elthina's raised brow, as she watched him leave as soon he'd felt a respectful amount of time kneeling at Andraste's statue had passed, smiling to himself.

****

Sebastian sat into the chair, resisting the urge to perch on the edge in anticipation of what Fenris might have planned. The table had been moved, slightly, and the wine and glasses placed upon a smaller ornate stand to Sebastian's side.

Greetings were exchanged, and Sebastian could feel the rising tension in the room, stealing his breath as he watched Fenris fight to hide the nervousness in his voice. His lyrium etched throat bobbed under Danarius's ever-present noose, but he was not to be swayed from whatever decision he'd made it seemed. Graceful, and in a well practised movement, Fenris was at Sebastian's side, and pouring him a glass. A sudden fear gripped him, and he again wondered if he'd perhaps coerced the elf into assuming a subservient role, playing inadvertently on his past to make him respond the only way he knew how, in slavish submission.

Fenris caught Sebastian's frown, and smiled, the curl of his lips easing Sebastian's nerves, for it was not the face of a slave. The elf poured himself a glass, and took a sip, before placing it down again and stepping beside the table.

"I am claiming back my skills." he explained, "True, I was made to serve upon Danarius and his guests. But now I chose to pour the wine for you Sebastian, my friend."

It seemed such a simple thing, but Fenris's voice had a gravitas to it as if he was facing down a pride demon with nothing more than his words to fend off the monster. Sebastian gave a solemn nod.

Fenris swallowed, and raise done hand to the collar of his armour, a finger beneath the tight leather, following the hem round till he reached the hidden buckle at the back. With a deft twist, he unlatched the metal and gave Sebastian a nervous glance.

"This too, I plan to take back..." His throat constricted, briefly, and the lines of lyrium dug into the flesh as he forced himself to continue. " _He_ would have me perform for his amusement. In front of his gathered fellow magisters. They would look upon my skin, and compliment _Danarius_ on the work he'd bestowed. I would be bid to do things... obscene things... while they admired Danarius's hold over me...."

"Stop. You do not have to do this.... Not if it will hurt you." Sebastian felt a bitter hatred crept over him, and pledged that if he ever met Danarius, the magister would not walk away.

Fenris tilted his head, "You are different to any other I've known, and so I want to do this. To undress for you... To display myself for you, I feel no shame, no disgust at the thought. To do this of my own volition, it will help me reclaim myself from my past." Fenris finished, and stood back. Then, almost as an afterthought, added in a softer voice; "I have been looking forward to tonight..."

Colour rose in his cheeks, to match that of the rosy glow of the fireplace, and Sebastian was struck by how strong the elf was, to challenge and stand against the ingrained horrors engraved into his mind and skin. 

"Me too...." He said, simply. He would give no nod for Fenris to proceed, nor command such a thing. He had not just witnessed Fenris shack off one of his inner shackles, only to step into the role of his master himself. Instead, patient, affectionate, he smiled, and settled back into his chair, heart racing at the thought of the visage that would be revealed to him.

He could see the elf's chest rise and fall, as he deepened his breathing, and then slender fingers started to dance over armour, pulling here, unlacing there, till the leather pieces started to fall away like feathers. He rubbed over the newly revealed flesh, watching Sebastian for any sign of disapproval of his markings. When Sebastian could only stare, swallowing thickly at the sight, marveling at the maker's will to sculpt such beauty, the last trace of fear fled his green eyes.

Every movement was graceful, controlled, as if rehearsed. Part of Sebastian guessed that Fenris had been taught, trained, on how to sway seductively from side to side, and how to flex to produce the most aesthetic effect, but there was no bow to the elf's head, nor dip of his eyes from his. There was however, the gleam unmistakable of pleasure in observing Sebastian's increasingly noisy breaths, as no amount of swallowing seeming to ease the dryness of his mouth. 

Blue eyes swept over the uncovered skin, following the dip of lyrium lines detailing the contours of the toned flesh. Battle scars jarred against the smooth skin, though even without them, Sebastian would have no doubt this was a warrior's form, all muscle and hidden strength, nothing but perfect balance as he pulled first one leg from his leggings, then the other. Even his member, thick and jutting from his body, had the magister's touch upon it, two white symmetrical lines running up either side of the smooth dark flesh.   
It was a slow, sensual shift of pace, as Fenris lent back against the table, bringing both legs up to the surface. Green eyes gazed at Sebastian with little disguised desire, and the prince felt his groin stir in response. A tongue, surprisingly red against his skin and thin lips, darted out to run a line of moisture over his top teeth, the sheen of salvia making his mouth catch the glow of the fire.

Free of the black armour that seemed to leech his colour, and grant him an almost ghostly appearance, Sebastian saw that actually Fenris's skin was quite dark and rich, like ancient manuscript. The contrast between flesh and the lyrium, and his soft coating of white hair like snowfall, illuminated by firelight, was perfect. 

Painfully aware it was against everything he had vowed, he was struck by the desire to touch. To feel the ridges of each tattoo under his fingertips, feel the smoothness of the skin under his tongue. He sat back, leaning into the chair lest he swing to his feet and attack the elf, arranging himself so enticingly on the table.

*

One foot planted firmly on the table with his knee raised to his chest and turned to the side so as not to obstruct the view, the other foot tucked under him, knee resting on the smooth wooden surface. Back straight, and head up, with one hand on the horizontal thigh, the other stroking lighting across his shoulder, flesh dipping where he applied pressure, showing the fine line of his collarbone. Fenris looked like he might have been craved from stone, if not for the purposefully slow breaths that filled his chest, and caused his body to shift slightly with each intake of air.

He halted, and Sebastian caught the plaintive whimper that followed before it escaped his throat.

"You are not to touch." the elf warned, and for the first time, Sebastian suspected there was something prevailing over Fenris, other than the limitations of his own vows. More than just inexperience, more than the usual fear that accompanied a new relationship. Something he had missed. If there had not been Fenris, himself and wholly marvellous, laid out on the table like a gift, Sebastian would have demanded answer, set aside his carnal desires to assist the elf in fighting his inner wars. The electric tingle running through him however, froze his tongue, making it thick and unwieldy, much like his own stiff and aching manhood.

He put both hands on the arms of the chair, and gripped, and Fenris gave a minuet nod of appreciation.

The elf tilted his head to elongate the line of his neck, and with a single fingertip, ran a line from the jaw downwards, slowly. The pad of his finger traced down the side of his ribcage, undulating with the contours of the bone beneath, and then, across the taunt muscles of his abdominals. His hand centred to his midline to skim over the dip of his belly, and then, with maddening ponderous pace, he touched himself from the base of his shaft to the tip, eyes briefly losing focus as he finally made contact with his erection, now full and stiff. 

Sebastian's hands tightened on the arms of the chair, knuckles blanching as Fenris spayed a hand against his hip, rubbing the skin but not yet grasping the tantalising hardness, despite how the flesh _pulsed_ in want for tactile touch. A dry smile betrayed Fenris's amusement at the way Sebastian's eyes held his body in sharp fixed focus. He let his mouth open with a soft sigh as his other hand moved to run fingernails down the side of his face, from ear to cheek to neck then up again, Sebastian forced to tear his eyes from his proud erection to follow the movement.

After a few more caresses against his cheek, Fenris brought his hand down to rest upon his lips, then, eyes locked with Sebastian's, pushed two digits into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucked upon them.

An unintentional 'uh' fled from his own lips, and Sebastian saw Fenris smirk around the intrusion. Delicate hand slid forwards and back in front of his face, twisted so as not to obstruct the view, and he used his tongue to coat the fingers, tip curling like a beckoning gesture as the thick red muscle working into every crease.

He kept both fingers in his mouth, flashing teeth as he bit down on them hard enough to draw another soft sound of rapidly fraying discipline from the archer. The hand which had hovered so near to the engorged hardness then started to curl solidly around the shaft, fingers and thumb locked into a tight circle. His wrist working to use the base of the palm against the base, kneading it, and then, moaning, the sound made only more erotic as it slipped past nibbled fingers.

With a long, firm stroke, Fenris's hand moved up his erection, and his brows tightened and relaxed as he let the sensation take him, his teeth biting down hard enough to leave marks. Skin creased as it bunched up at the flared shiny flesh of the head of his member, and then was smoothed as Fenris pulled his palm back, tipping his hips into the movement. He looked to Sebastian, and took his fingers from his mouth, tiny indents where tooth had pressed deep against skin.

"You may touch yourself... if it is permitted...?" there was a carefulness to his voice, as if Fenris was scared of offending. 

Sebastian blinked, lust making him groggy, trying to force his own tongue to remember how to form words. 

"Keep awn like that, an' my own hand shall not be necessary." his accent sat heavy on his words, and he was surprised that he was so out of practice that he would be as much affected by spectacle alone, when he had done so much more in his life before his vows... And always retained prefect diction throughout. 

Emboldened, Fenris raised himself up on one knee and twisted so that he was side on, hips in line with Sebastian's head. In a fluid motion, he arched his back, leaning backwards, one arm falling behind him, hand spread against the wood and supporting his body as he shifted into the new position. Sebastian had been with dancers in his past who had not had half as much grace or flexibility, and that Fenris could hold such a pose, head tipped to the side, watching, the other hand still enclosed around the girth of his shaft, was impressive.

When he started to move both hand and hips together, all liquid and flowing, hips rolling up and down like waves, erection bobbing in time as fingers tightened and twisted, Sebastian could feel himself grow uncomfortably hard. His soft breeches pulled tight against his groin, the fabric rubbing, but not in the right way. He felt a blazing heat that has nothing to do with the fire in the room, and everything to do with his pounding blood and undeniable arousal. The wood under his hands creaked.

Fenris had let his throat relax and inhibitions drop, and the moans that followed each stroke, becoming louder as his hand worked the flesh faster, filled the room, all raw and open, nothing at all hidden from Sebastian as Fenris displayed himself upon the table.

Breath did not come easy to either of them, Fenris's skin starting to develop an even sheen as he exerted himself, Sebastian's body rebelling his firm resolution to not let go of the arms of the chair. He feared if he were to release his grip, he might reach out and break the delicate trust Fenris and he had established, go against the one command Fenris had supplied. His every muscle felt tense, drawn into tight conflict as he watched Fenris throw back his head and thrust into the air, the swinging sac beneath his hand growing heavy and rigid.

Finally, the sight of the elf, the musky smell of him invading nostrils, the sounds becoming no more than breathy gasps for air, undid Sebastian, and with a violent jerk he felt a wave of pleasure wash through him, damp and hot and blissful. That he would need to change his trousers did not bother him, not as his face flushed with the afterglow, his posture slipping into a comfortable slump.

Hand almost a blur, and supporting arm starting to tremble with the effort in both resisting climax, and keeping himself upright, Fenris caught Sebastian's pleased sigh. Green eyes quickly assessed the situation, and let himself bring his arousal to its inevitable conclusion. White seed spurted from him, arching thickly and landing on floor, table and his hand. 

He sat, a little heavier than he would have perhaps liked, but still showing remarkable control as he swung both legs over the side of the table, catching his breath. He did not need to ask if he had performed sufficiently enough, the archer had the look of a man well stated. The elf himself could not seem to stop the slow satisfied, _triumphant_ curve of lips, as Danarius lost yet another hook-hold in his head. 

Unsurprisingly, it was some time before either moved. Fenris got up first, and though a little shaky on his legs, set about cleaning himself up, and pulling on a simple robe to cover himself. Sebastian, respectfully, held back any sigh of disappointment at the bronzed skin being hidden from view. He instead took his glass and toasted Fenris.

"That was... Wonderful. You are wonderful. To freedom."

Fenris raised his glass, saying nothing. Sebastian noted a delightful blush shade briefly across cheeks, and smirked to himself as he drank the wine.

***

The night wore on, and after while there was no unease at the events of the evening, any attempt at conversation seemed trivial and pointless. It was Fenris, curled into the chair and around a forth glass of wine, who leaned in with a flash of curiosity alight in his bright green eyes.

"So... I hope you will not think me rude but I have been wondering.... Are you allowed to touch yourself?"

Sebastian chuckled, but it was a half-hearted noise. 

"It is permitted.. Sort of. It should be brief, and shameful.... To state the body but no more, and that makes such 'efforts' rather ... " He searched for the word, " functionary."

Fenris nodded, thoughtful. "I marvel at the strength of your conviction." there was no mockery there, just honest and open approval. Sebastian beamed.

"It is no hard task to love the Maker. And while my vows may have curtailed certain activities... tonight has more than made up." He flashed Fenris a smile he knew for a fact could melt hearts, he'd practised it long and hard in the mirror in his younger days.

"If you are willing, I would like very much to repay you..."

Fenris raised a eyebrow, and Sebastian did not miss the brief look of concern that caught round his jawline and between his eyes. "What had you in mind...?" 

"I think you'll like it. I'd bring a selection of wines, and we could have ourselves a little tasting session. I could teach you the difference between grape varieties, and how best to appreciate the flavours."

Fenris relaxed visibly, and Sebastian made note that sooner or later, he would talk to Fenris on the subject of what caused him such unease. He had no wish to cause the elf any discomfort, but without knowing what plagued him, it was hard to anticipate the topics Fenris would flinch from.

"That sounds... Pleasant. When?"

"Three days. In three days time." While he was wary of moving too fast, Fenris certainly seemed more than adaptable to the current pace, but it would take Sebastian time to acquire suitable bottles of wine. That, and he very much desired some time to savour the memories of the night.

Probably starting with as soon as he got to his bed the moment he returned to his room in the chantry.


	2. Chapter 2

Sebastian had spent a pleasant afternoon collecting various wines from the merchants of Hightown. His manner of speaking, as well as carefully timed flashes of coin had granted him excellent service, many of the shopkeepers making their own recommendations, offering samples and politely asking the occasion. He'd been vague, but one of the older ladies, wife to the merchant who was out on business, and who had been just a little too keen to get the chance to open a bottle of a particularly pleasant red, had caught his smile and gave a knowing wink as they shared and sampled the heady drink. He'd bought two bottles, and made note that the wife was far more knowledgeable than her spouse, even if it was his name upon the store front.

Finding a suitable palate cleanser though, was a little bit more tricky. It was unfortunately not the season for apples, and he lamented that he would not be able to pass on the knowledge of how a thin slice of apple could refresh the mouth, so plain water would have to do. Plus, on seeing Fenris's preference for reds, he thought that having water might combat the excessive dryness that could accompany some of the more heavier wines, rich in tannin. He did not trust however, that he could find a source that would not make them both sick, or worse, very much dead.

There was one person he knew that would have clean water, but Sebastian made sure he had stashed his treasured purchases in his room before journeying down to Darktown.

It hardly seemed the best place to get clean water, the streets and occupants filthy, and the permeating stink of stale sweat and rotten river making the very air taste foul. Still, even if an apostate and possible abomination besides, Anders was a good healer, and was usually more than happy to exchange safe water for coin to heal the sick that flocked to him.

The mage looked like he had not slept in days, even though the clinic looked clear of any wounded or ill. Sebastian strode over to where Anders was grinding what looked like elfroot with pestle and mortar, and waited patiently for the mage to finish and attend to him. He'd not distract the healer from his valuable task, and Anders eventually put his work down with a clatter, and fixed Sebastian with a tired look.

"Yes yes, I see you there. Hard to miss, in all your ivory glory."

"I was hoping you might be able to assist me. I have need of water."

"The river is right out there." Anders gestured, but even the sweep of his arm seemed wearied. Sebastian made a note to mention to Hawke how hard Anders appeared to be working.

"Clean water. Safe water...." Sebastian said gently, and pulled out his coin purse and an empty wineskin.

"Ah... _magicked_ water. Give me a moment, I'll go fetch some." Anders pushed himself from his chair, straightened his robes, and went through to his back rooms, taking with him Sebastian's wineskin.

Sebastian would have not been impressed to learn that Anders's water, guaranteed not to cause sickness or death, was only rainwater heated with a fire spell till it bubbled. He'd have been less likely to part with eight copper pieces per wineskin (but you had to return the skin), no matter how much Anders would have justified the money was for a good cause.

However, when he saw Anders reappear, tying the neck of the skein tight with a piece of leather cord, Sebastian smiled brightly, and placed ten copper pieces on the table. The mage raised a brow, and sat heavily back into his chair.

"As thanks," Sebastian explained, fastening the skin to his belt and giving the mage a courteous nod. 

"The chantry must have you on a terribly short leash if you are only allowed water to quench your thirst now..." Anders's voice held some disdain, thinking the chantry had imposed such a rule upon Sebastian. Most everyone in Kirkwall, drank something with some form of alcohol in it. Not for the inebriating effect, but because it was so much safer than risking plain water, which could carry any number of sicknesses, no matter how clear it looked. In such a large city, the waterwells were only for the brave and foolish to drink from, as it was too easy to tip rubbish, or filth, or a body, down into the depths and poison the water.

Sebastian crossed his arms, not bothering to explain why he wanted the water, nor correct Anders in his incorrect assumptions that the chantry forced any such measures upon its followers.

"I thought you were the same. Your spirit would not let you consume alcohol as I recall..."

Anders raised both shoulders, tensing under the wilting feathers, "We have reached compromise. I am allowed watered down beer, as long as I do not drink to excess. It's not the same though...."

Whether it was because Anders disliked the notion of being compared to the archer, or that he could not enjoy the brew if it was watered and tasteless, Sebastian could not be sure. He gave a non-committal shrug, wary of the thing that called itself Justice.

"But back to yourself, Ser Elusive, you've not been at the Hanged Man." Anders gave a half amused smirk, "So there's only Hawke to catch Varric and Isabella cheating. And half the time he's got a couple of cards squirrelled away down the front of his armour.... So is the deterioration of our weekly game due to ol' Elthina demanding you put aside all fun in your life in service to the Maker, and live off nought but bread and water and faith?"

Sebastian didn't react and give Anders the satisfaction of seeing the prince rise to the bait. He would have just told his true intention for the water as a simple palate cleanser for a wine tasting, but there was a part of him reluctant to share his plans for the evening. Anders might invite himself, for a start and ruin Fenris's mood before they'd even uncorked the first bottle, or gossip with Isabella, and give the dratted woman more reason to pester him. 

He gave a grin, and shook his head at Anders. "My absence is surely of no concern of yours.... Being such an _accomplished_ player of diamondback as you are..."

"I hardly stand a chance when there are at least six tens on the table at any given time, and all the fours stuck under the table or stuffed down clothing!" Whether it was the tiredness taking its toll on the mage, or the fact that his losing streak was something of a running joke between the companions, Anders was suitably distracted from his queries about the chantry and the water.

Sebastian chuckled, a warm rich sound, "You cannot blame me that you lose so heavily. I think it has less to do with the players cheating, and more to do with your absolutely rotten luck with the cards. Perhaps you could ask the dog for tips?"

Anders gave a grunt, and muttered; "The mabari cheats as much as his master...."

The mage and the mabari had a tenuous relationship, since Anders had moved in with Hawke. Whilst out, the ridiculously named Narf-Narf would run in front of Anders and cause him to trip, or step on his robe, or try to chew upon his staff like a stick. Hawke, of course, defended his beloved pet, leaving Anders in the awkward position of trying desperately to ignore the beast as it made its disapproval of the new household hierarchy known. Varric, finding the situation far too amusing, had suggested that Anders lay on his back as a sign of submission, to which Hawke had made comment. Sebastian had not heard the exact words, but by Anders's furious blush and Isabella's gleeful cackle, could well guess the gist.

Anders gave a little sigh, and turned his head to Sebastian. "I'm not an idiot, you clearly don't want to talk about the chantry and what you can and cannot do... but just answer me, is it worth it? All the pain and sacrifice... Living your life as someone else dictates...?"

Sebastian cleared his throat, "It is no pain, nor hardship to worship the divine. There is peace to be found within the chantry walls, and wisdom beyond just the teachings."

"You speak like a brainwashed tranquil..." Anders scoffed, 

"And you like someone who has not yet found the Maker's grace." Sebastian countered hotly.

"I am apparently cursed, remember. My magic makes me wicked, and sure to do terrible things should I not have a templar to keep careful watch over me."

Sebastian looked away from Anders, his voice so full of scorn it was hard to listen and not retaliate angrily. His eyes cast over the beds laid out, available for any who walked through the door. Shelves of potions and poultices that Anders was constantly mixing and distributing to those in need lined the walls, and addictive lyrium, that Anders would choke down when his mana ran dry so that his healing magic could continue to flow. Hardly the sin against the Maker the chantry warned about, but then, demons worked in dark and devious ways.

He'd not stay and let Anders sway him, nor confuse his resolution.

"Thank you for the water." Sebastian said, voice flat.

He turned to go, and missed Anders's face take on a brief look of guilt as he pocketed the coins, and then, rubbing his eyes to clear them, return to the work of grinding the elfroot.

*****

"First, observe the colour. Hold it against something pale to see how dark the wine is..."

Fenris mimicked Sebastian's gesture to move his glass to in front of his white plated armour, the brightest thing in the room save for the crackling fire. He held up his bracer to help Fenris see the shade of the wine he'd selected to go first, a lighter red vintage, young and fairly simple to start Fenris off on picking out the qualities and complexities of wine.

The room had been dusted, and the rotting corpses moved out to somewhere else (Sebastian did not care to think of where the skin-tight bones might have ended up, but he was glad of his purified water all the same). Sebastian gave the elf an encouraging smile.

Fenris, who seemed to be treating the experience with a degree of trepidation, had questioned the bucket that Sebastian had brought, so that they might spit the wine out after tasting.

_"Why on Thedas would you waste wine like that? I thought wine to be something of a luxury."_

_"It means you can enjoy the wine, without the worry of inebriation."_

_Fenris had frowned, confused. "But part of the pleasure of drinking, is it not?"_

_That blunt and honest answer had brought a chuckle from Sebastian, and he'd put the bucket aside; "True."  
_  
Fenris's over-indulgence was an issue to be approached another day, this was a night for enjoying good wine and good company. To dwell on the negatives would impede the purpose of the evening, and Sebastian was not even sure he could begrudge Fenris's drinking habit. The elf seemed to have no other vices (save for occasionally ripping the hearts out of slavers), and he'd not yet seen Fenris unable to function in the early mornings when Hawke had a lead on a group of qunari to slay or assassin to track down. 

Still, an appreciation of Danarius's commandeered collection would perhaps help Fenris to at least take his time over the expensive bottles.

"It is not very dark..." Fenris commented.

"Good! This is a young wine, not yet fully developed. It will be lighter on the tongue than a deeper red. Now swirl the glass."

"Why?"

Sebastian had been preparing his talk on wine and how to taste them, but not rehearsed answers to any queries Fenris might have. He faltered briefly, trying to remember why you swirled the wine, other than it was the done thing when sampling wines.

"The.. the strength of the alcohol. You can see it in the way it sticks to the glass."

Fenris looked critically at his glass, and then at Sebastian. "The patterns it makes? What does it mean in this wine then?"

Sebastian was suddenly struck that the majority of his wine tasting experience had been gleaned from high-noble parties, where everyone tried their best to impress, and that to ask such questions would be viewed as ignorance. Showing ignorance was as dangerous as turning your back on an Antivan, so he had learnt the complicated dance of wine tasting, and the words and language to accompany it, without the background understanding. He tried to recall a correlation between what he'd seen in the countless glasses he'd twisted and spun, and the corresponding qualities of the vintage.

"Thicker droplets mean the wine is sweeter... You'll observe that this wine has thinner drops... That means it is likely to not be sweet, and probably doesn't have much of an alcoholic edge. Swirling also allows the wine to breathe, and let you catch its scent."

If Fenris saw that Sebastian was struggling with the explanation, he did not make mention of the fact, instead patiently awaited permission to drink from the glass held in his delicate fingers.

"You next smell the wine. Put your nose in like this..."

Fenris frowned again. "That looks ridiculous."

Sebastian, jolting so that the top of his nose hit the lip of his glass, tried not to feel self conscious as he again dipped his nose deep into the glass. When Fenris finally mirrored him, he allowed himself to inhale the perfume of the wine.

"What do you smell?" he asked.

"Wine." Fenris replied bluntly, his voice betraying his dip in interest in this game. Sebastian decided it would be best to demonstrate the art of unpicking the scent;

"I smell freshness, like spring. And not quite-yet-ripe raspberry."

Fenris looked sceptical, but dipped his nose and took a deliberate sniff. "...Yes.... it's... sharp?"

"Yes. I'd say a little sharp and aggressive on the nose. There is a floral element, but its faint, drowned out by the other fragrances."

Fenris relaxed under Sebastian's agreement, and Sebastian raised his glass with a small flair. "And now we drink. Try to pick out the flavours, _taste_ the wine, learn it."

He drank, and was impressed at the boldness of the wine, despite its age. It was bright and exuberant, and though perhaps not as deep or complex as an older vintage, pleasant. It was light drinking, and would be easy to over indulge with.

Fenris lowered his glass, and looked to Sebastian. "I taste fruit, not just grape, but as you say, raspberry. And cherry. It is different to most of the wines in the cellar, they tend to be heavy and rich, but this is light in comparison."

"That's good, you've getting the hang of this. More importantly though, do you like it?"

"I've yet to meet a bottle of wine I did not like." Fenris smirked, "But yes, I do like this."

"Myself as well. It is simple, straight forward and refreshing." Sebastian gestured to the other bottles he'd brought, as well as the wineskin of water. "We'll enjoy this glass, then some water, then on to the next bottle, which should be very different."

***

He did not mention who had supplied the water, for fear of Fenris's reaction to the mage's involvement. The two had reached a level of animosity that gave Hawke cause to not leave them alone for any length of time, for fear that he would come back to find himself down one healer or one elf. Neither Anders or Fenris seemed willing to entertain the pretence of fellowship, and so any conversation quickly escalated into a quarrel, the same arguments and objections to the other voiced over and over.

Sebastian did not blame Fenris, Anders had a habit of not knowing when to shut his mouth, and his constant rants were tiresome at best. Still, he had not yet proven to be the abomination the elf was certain he was, and there was no denying that his healing powers had come in handy during their more challenging battles. The clinic too, seemed to be benefiting the poorer populace, and Hawke certainty seemed happier now that Anders had agreed to move into his Hightown mansion. Perhaps the mage was not so bad, but it would take a minor miracle to change Fenris's opinion.

He uncorked the wine he'd bought from the wine merchant, the winking wife, and gave it a moment to breathe as Fenris prodded the fireplace, stirring the embers back to life. As he poured the next glass, both of them relaxed into the evening's embrace and Fenris seeming to have lost some of his previous reservations about appraising the wine on offer, Sebastian noticed a chip in Fenris's glass. He set down the bottle quietly and pointed briefly; "Watch yourself on that. You might want to think about buying some new ones."

Fenris did not exactly glare at the offending chip, but it was close enough to rouse Sebastian's curiosity. 

"Is there a problem?"

The elf tipped the glass, as if trying to hide the chip from Sebastian, and gave a shrug. "It is but a tiny fault, not worth the coin to replace."

Curiosity sparked, Sebastian leant back into the chair, encouraging elaboration. When Fenris did not respond, he pressed further; "You are perhaps saving for something?"

"Yes." That same flat tone, almost a threat in its delivery. Sebastian had long since learnt not to take offence at Fenris's various defence mechanisms, and instead work round them, carefully.

"Saving your money is very wise. However, you do drink a lot of wine. Perhaps it would benefit you to spend a little money on yourself and not risk cutting your lip on a stray chip. Maker knows, our adventures with Hawke certainly grant us a fair wage."

Fenris gave Sebastian a sharp look, then softened as he realised Sebastian meant no offence.

"I... Need a great deal of coin." before Sebastian got a chance to enquire, Fenris interrupted, "I'd rather not say what I need it for. It's... private."

Immediately, unbidden, Sebastian thought of the assassins hired to murder his family, and that Fenris had seen the Antivan crows in the marketplace. He'd surely not be stupid or desperate enough to try and take out a contract on his old master, for the crows would surely ask for a counter offer from the magister. Partly for the chance to make a little extra money, partly because a target fearful for their life often panicked and made for an easy kill. The Antivan crows were deadly, but only for those who had the coin and power to secure their aid. They were not beyond backstabbing a stray ex-slave if they thought it might win them favour with the Tevinter populace.

"Still," Sebastian could not challenge the request for privacy here and now, but he could perhaps dissuade Fenris from his chosen course of action through spending some of his hard won coin. "You have earned your freedom. Perhaps it is time you started to live as a free man, spend your money on yourself. Buy things that please you."

Fenris seemed confused at the notion, and Sebastian realised that Fenris had probably never had cause nor opportunity to buy anything for himself. The potential to open up a new world of experiences and pleasures to Fenris made Sebastian grin, and he found he wanted to share his fond memories of the past indulgences he had set aside. To relive them, in a way that would not offend his vows. He could encourage Fenris to embrace that which he himself could not.

"It is unhealthy not to enjoy the life which the Maker has granted." he said, and looked to the wine as an example. Fenris followed his glance, and Sebastian could see the conflict there, though the elf lived simply, he definitely had a taste for the richer things in life. Perhaps he felt guilty that he was mirroring the lifestyle of his hated master, or he could not bring himself to sample that which a slave would never have access to, lest it be stolen away. That was another topic for another evening, and Sebastian though it best to ease the furrow forming in Fenris's brow by presenting the next wine.

"So, first assess the colour..."

Fenris appeared relieved to be back to the drinking, and gave his glass an experimental swirl as he analysed the colour.

"Its murky. Almost black."

Sebastian held up his bracer as a prompt, and Fenris gave a slow blink at his mistake in trying to see the colour against the darkness of the room. He aliened his glass with the pale metal of the bracer, and almost started at the difference in the colour.

"Ah. It is a rich and deep red, which means the wine will be rich and deep in flavour?"

Sebastian gave an approving nod, and looked to his own glass. The wine was dark, true, but the dark shade promised a very for filling mouthful.

Fenris gave the wine a swirl, and the archer was pleased to see him frown in concentration as he tried to pick out the clear droplets forming on the sides of the glass. Even as he started to spin his own glass, he could smell the vintage start to fill his nose. As the wine aerated, the scent became almost like perfume, thick and heady.

"Larger tears running down the glass means either sweet, or more alcoholic, or both. It's hard to tell without actually tasting, but it can give you an idea of what to expect from the wine."

Sebastian waited until Fenris had finished observing the way the clear drips slipped back down into the glass, and then bent forwards to smell. He noted the elf took a deep breath through his nose, without needing to be told to. Sebastian also plunged his nose into the glass (he'd been careful not to fill them too full, only a third of the way up), and was immediately hit by the heavy aroma. He indulged in the scent, and waited for Fenris to make the first comment.

"Its very strong. And smells of the little plum-things used in jam and sloe gin....." 

"Damson?" Sebastian was surprised at how well the odd choice of fruit matched the wine, a not-quite sweet but pungent fruit, the colour of the skins and the bitter tang of them almost exactly summing up the quality of the glass's contents. 

He'd always assumed, through no fault of the elf's, that Fenris's drinking habits were unrefined and uncouth, but now he began to wonder if Fenris was not much more knowledgeable than he had let on... Or if perhaps there was another reason for his at times frightening consumption of the wine available to him. He 'hmm'd' an agreement, and dipped his nose again, trying to pick out what else lurked within the wine's bouquet.

"There is a smoky smell too. It gives in a different character to the first wine, something more mature."

The elf gave a further sniff, then nodded in agreement, a little perplexed that wine could be described by non-edible things, like smoke and flowers, but quickly picking up the nuisances of defining the drink.

When he had finished, Fenris grinned and lifted his glass. "And now we drink." Sebastian smiled, of course the elf had picked up on that particular step without flaw.

That Fenris seemed to be enjoying the experience heartened him, and Sebastian took great pleasure in letting the wine slip over his tongue, his senses dominated by the rich fruit of the vintage. It was almost like jam, the intensity unsurprising given the colour. The lack of sweetness though, that was more unusual. The smoke element came through strongly on the palate, shifting to a more musky, earthy taste, as the tannin took hold and coated the mouth.

Sebastian lowered his glass, and allowed Fenris a moment to develop his own thoughts on the wine.

"Do you feel that thick taste that seems to stick to your teeth? That is tannin, its found in most reds. The darker the red, the more tannin it is likely to have. It gives the wine richness and depth, but makes the drink drier. Sometimes it is balanced with more sugars from the grape, but here, you can really taste the bark-like flavour of the tannin."

Fenris licked his teeth experimentally, and Sebastian managed to stop himself raising his brows at the sight, the tip of tongue entirely too tempting. Swallowing heavily, he cupped his hand around the glass, to warm the wine before he took a second sip.

"Tannin... " Fenris said slowly, tasting the word as much as the flavour, "This wine has a lot of tannin I think. Makes me think of the spice, cinnamon, and pepper as well."

Though he had tasted the pepper compliment to the rich fruit of the wine, he hadn't picked up on cinnamon. Now that he thought about it though, the amount of tannin and warmth it gave did remind him of the spice and he could not help but be impressed, Fenris was a natural at wine tasting it seemed. His opened brow of the surprise of such a discovered must have shown, because Fenris gave a small sigh, almost invisible, but for the way he constricted his throat. Daranius's noose, again.

"On occasion I was used as a food taster, since I was more hardy than my master." he said, voice bereft of any emotion, "I was taught the different spices used in the kitchens, and what poisons could be hidden by an overuse of flavour. Assassins tend not to be chefs, and either use too much poison and affect the taste of the meal, or try to mask their efforts with spices. And any magical poison of course would affect the lyrium in my skin." his tone dipped, a dark sense of humour creeping through, "Apparently I was a very versatile slave."

Sebastian didn't say anything, couldn't bring himself to say anything. Instead, desperate to draw Fenris away from such painful memories, he glazed upon his glass, admiring the play of colour as he swished the wine inside.

"The tannin gives it an interesting edge. Dark, deep, grounded. It is a very complex and powerful wine. Its hard to make out the different flavours, each one is strong and ought to overwhelm, yet they match well against each other. By no means sweet, but definitely full-bodied and interesting." He was supplying descriptive words, those he had heard other nobles recite to much approval and commendation. He was also rather fond of the wine, it was rich and potent, and it had been an age since he had allowed himself such lasciviousness.

Fenris, the elf holding still a slight rigidity to his neck, seemed less impressed.

"Let us move on." he said, no, _requested_. Sebastian could hardly refuse.

****

The last wine was a white Sebastian had bought on a recommendation, and was something of an unknown quality. It was not a rose, but had a definite reddish/orange tinge to the glass as he poured. It heralded from a well established vineyard, that had fallen on hard times of late, a fugal rot decimating most of its vines in a brutal fell sweep. Only those on a far front of the vineyard had survived, despite the odds, and the wine produced from those grapes was what now filled their glasses.

Fenris lifted the glass, and viewed it past Sebastian's bracer. He gave a frown, and looked to Sebastian for guidance, not used to whites and how to access them when compared to the rich tonals of a red.

"It is harder to _see_ a white wine, you have to look for the depth of the yellow hue, and shade. Avoid anything that is cloudy, it usually means something has gone wrong with the distilling process, or it hasn't been clarified properly."

The conversation had become tense, but Fenris was making an effort to move on past his past. He listened intently, and was making a conscious effort not to dwell. Sebastian was grateful, he wanted this evening to be one that Fenris enjoyed, and hoped that Fenris might also be feeling the pleasant thrum of alcohol within him.

"This one is unusual. It is pale, but with a definite golden hue. I'm not sure what to expect from it."

His admittance seemed to ease the elf, and Fenris gave the glass a twist, letting the liquid within in spin and dance, watching the runoff appear on the side of the glass.

"Its almost exactly between the first and second wines." he commented. "What does that mean?"

Sebastian gave a pursing of his lips, and gave his own glass a critical stare. "Hard to tell. It is neither heavy in sugar or alcohol, but the colour would suggest a strong flavour."

He did not wait for Fenris to acknowledge the next step, too curious to continue himself. Sebastian gave an exaggerated inhale, and let the scent flood his nostrils.

"It does not smell of fruit." Fenris looked confused, the previous rules apparently not applying to this wine, and making him unsure of himself, all over again. Sebastian was forced to admit, the elf was right. He searched for the right descriptive words, the wine causing him to have to truly think, seemingly intent on not obeying any of the normal rules.

"No... not fruit. Its... more mineral, flinty. Maybe something like apple blossom as well?"

"Honey. It smells of honey." Fenris looked pleased with himself, and yes, even without the taste of sugar on his tongue to guide him, Sebastian could smell the musky aroma of rich honey lingering in the perfume of the wine.

Fenris was waiting until Sebastian had finished tried to detect the other scents, unusual and complicated, but eventually he had to call it a day and gesture that is was permissible to continue. That the wine had flummoxed him so completely irritated, like a stone in the shoe. He prided himself on his ability to at least make an educated guess at what he was going to taste, but this wine, honey scented but no sugar, no fruit or citrus to give a clue as to the flavour expected left him completely unprepared for the tasting.

When golden liquid finally ran past his lips, he remained perplexed. It had the sharp bite of a white wine, crisp and clean and pure, but marred by the competing taste of flowers and honey, not sweet enough to be cloying, but strong enough to confuse the senses. It was as if the wine was a mix of sweet dessert wine, all luxury and indulgence, and the pure taste of a traditional white. It seemed at odds with itself, as if it could not decide what it wanted to be.

Perhaps, with age, it might develop its character and come into its own, but at the moment, it was a confused mess, and quite difficult to decipher on the tongue.

"I taste rose petals." Fenris's voice had fallen back into the defensive gruffness Sebastian no longer took much notice of. Sebastian couldn't detect rose in amongst the conflicted mineral and honey, and himself was annoyed at the last wine of his selection being such a let down.

"I think that is rather hopeful of this rather unconvincing wine." Sebastian gave the wineglass in his hand a scornful look, then turned to Fenris, "It is a bit of a disappointment, I apologise."  
He looked to the wine bottles, open and breathing on the side table, and gave Fenris a warm smile.

"Now what usually happens is we finish our glasses, then return to our favourite wines of the evening. I would be interested to see your preference."

As if turned out, they each had the remainder of their choice wines to themselves. Sebastian had gone for the second, its body and richness appealing to his usually temperate sensibilities. Fenris had seemed torn between the first and third, and eventually, after much consideration, filled his glass with the first wine. 

The fire worn down, and they spoke, of everything but the important issues of chantry and slavery. Eventually, both warmed and cheerful, for sake of not letting the last bottle go unheeded, started to use it to fill their glasses now that the others were empty.

It was then that Fenris had stood to coax the fire back to a warm glow, and failed to move one foot in front of the other and started to fall forwards. Sebastian, too well trained to do anything but react, moved to catch him, but the flare of blue lyrium had caused him to almost instantly let go and let the elf stumble. Fenris had watched the glow fade from his skin, and looked to Sebastian, eyes wide, like a startled animal.

"Don't." he said, simply, sadly.

"Why?" Sebastian could not help but question, the wine dulling his instinct to let Fenris be.

Fenris sat back down, and placed his hands in front of him, lacing fingers together and eyelids slipping to mask the green of his eyes. "I do not like to be touched."

Sebastian remembered back to the many times where Anders had tried to heal Fenris after battle, and the elf had jerked away violently. It had done nothing to mend the chasm between the two, and the archer had always assumed that it was the mage's magical touch that Fenris had detested so vehemently. Now, thinking for the first time for such an occurrence, he could recall Fenris snapping angrily at Isabella when she had sidled too close, or even Hawke, when he had given the elf a congratulatory pat of the back. Each time, Fenris had twitched or pulled away suddenly, in keeping with his gruff persona, but also discouraging any further attempts at contact.

It took a moment before Sebastian realise his teeth were biting down on his lip at the statement, and he made his face neutral hurriedly. Fenris seemed not to notice or care at the facial grimace, and stared at his clasped hands. Sebastian shuffled in his chair to face Fenris. The elf gave him an apologetic look.

"For so many years, every touch upon me was unwanted. I grew to hate the feel of magisters hands on me, every contact without consent. It is difficult to teach myself that a touch is not something to be revolted by." He dipped his head, white hair obscuring his face.

Sebastian moved closer, and bent down to Fenris, searching for his eyes under the pale strands. He held out a hand, palm open, offering it to the elf.

Trusting, but also with trepidation, Fenris reached out and let his hand fall into Sebastian's. The archer gave it a gentle shake, and smiled wide at Fenris.

"If you wish it.. I believe I might be able to help."

Fenris looked up, and gave a brief nod.

"Tomorrow." Sebastian said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wine tasting notes: The first wine is representative of young Sebastian. The second is Fenris. The last wine is Sebastian as he is at the moment.


	3. Chapter 3

The promise of the oncoming evening haunted Sebastian. He had to make several attempts to recite the chant of light without his thoughts slipping past piety to Fenris, and what he has planned for their meeting. Even the hangover from the wine (something he did not miss), slight but persistent, seemed to have no sway compared to images of Fenris, and those green eyes, and that skin.... and the chance to touch. Words muddled in his head, and sections of the chant he thought he could recite in his sleep tangled when they emerged from his throat. It took him an age to finally speak the verse chosen for the day, and when he was finally though, he bowed his head in reverence and apology to the Maker. He tried to tell himself that there was no cause for such agitation, and that Fenris had been willing to try out Sebastian's plan for approaching the subject of his severe dislike of physical contact.

He would be helping a friend, that was all. Aid Fenris in overcoming his difficulties and allow him to live his life without every nudge reminding him of his time in servitude. He would help, because Fenris had trust in him, and he would see the elf happy. Never mind that in order to help he would have to lay hands upon that skin, that marvellous skin, all rich and smooth and warm, caress it, _touch_ it.

He told himself that this was all for Fenris's benefit, and would not impinge on his vows in any way, but the rush of jittery excitement he felt fluttering in his chest and head caused a thin thread of guilt to wind through his body. He went over his vows again in his mind, and reassured himself that he would not be breaking a single word. Still, the guilt remained.

It wore on, thick and twisting in his gut as the day progressed, the tickle of nerves clashing with the increasing dread that he was perhaps either walking on the knife edge back to his old debauched ways, or worse, that he was using Fenris. The elf deserved better than that, deserved more than to be used to state desires that prayer and chant ought to quell. He could not, with any degree of honesty, say that the idea of Fenris and feeling the heat of his flesh did not fill him with a heady sense of need, more than any so-called altruistic drive to serve the elf. 

So, it was with a heavy heart and heavier footsteps he walked the Hightown paths to Fenris's abode, trying to think of how he would confess his desires. It was much harder than prayer to the maker, when the listening ear might give reply, and though Fenris had many good and virtuous qualities... forgiveness did not seem to be among them.

For the first time in an age, he came to regret his rashness in accepting the rigid rules. Not just lamenting what he could no longer do, but actually ruing the vows Elthina had pressed upon him. Such impure thoughts caused him great unease, and he hesitated before knocking upon the sturdy wooden door.

Fenris smiled and held the door open for him, and Sebastian saw that the curl of the lips was just a little forced. Though Fenris had agreed to allow Sebastian to come up with a battleplan for fighting against the ingrained response to touch that was causing him so much misery, he was wary. Sebastian sadly assessed that he was pushing the elf too far too fast, that Fenris did not want his help, but had said yes for Sebastian's sake.

Fenris looked to the prince, and though there was a trace of fear in his eyes, he was trying to mask it for Sebastian's benefit. That only made it harder to take a seat, and then shake his head.

"I though I might be able to help you with your tactile avoidance, but I think now it is for the best if I leave you be."

Disappointment, raw, painful to witness, and Sebastian had to turn his head so he did not have to see. Fenris straightened, his lips tight.

"Oh.... Might I ask what your original plan was?"

"Deep pressure massage." Sebastian said, and caught the look of uncertainty at the notion flash briefly in Fenris's eyes before he could affix his mask to veil his emotions. Sebastian had been seeing more and more of what lay hidden behind the mask of gruffness and distance, and it hurt him to see Fenris readopt the defensive mechanism.

"That would not have worked anyway." Fenris waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, "I do not think _more_ pressure would help when I cannot stand the slightest touch."

Sebastian, despite himself, launched into explanation; "Actually, I've seen this sort of thing before. Many warriors, to keep themselves whole in battle, teach their bodies to automatically flinch from touch. It can help if your arm shifts out the way of an oncoming blow faster than you can command. It happens naturally, the pain of contact making it instinctive before very long.... but it can grow too strong, so that any graze or brush triggers the fight response. As well as the associated memories of battle..." He very carefully watched Fenris's face, and saw the distaste for the notion shift to at first curiosity, then interest. 

"Deep pressure," he continued, "as well as being beneficial for tired muscles, feels different to the incident light contact that can cause so much issue. It trains the body to accept touch, to trust that there is no impending blade or impact."

The elf looked at the archer, and tilted his head to the side, "Then... why can we not try this?"

Sebastian sighed, the uncomfortable feeling in his gut weighing heavily upon him. "Because I have ulterior motive in getting you to agree. The thought of you, and your skin rolling under my fingertips, has been driving me to distraction all day. It is wrong of me to push against that which you find challenging, for my own ends."

He'd bowed his head, in shame, in remorse, and so did not see Fenris rise and move across the floor, barefoot and quiet. The elf laid a hand on the prince's shoulder, and Sebastian looked up to see eyes, open, honest, stare at him.

"No-one has ever given thought to my problem. There is no-one else I would trust so much as to reveal it to, let alone formulate a plan of action to overcome it."

"It is selfish of me. It would be unwise to proceed."

Fenris gave a sharp bark of a laugh, "You want this. And... I want this." The admittance came out in a rush of air, as if Fenris had been waiting to exhale the words, "I fail to see the issue... unless.... It goes against your vows?"

Sebastian shook his head, his body quickly coming round to the idea of being permitted to run hands over smooth skin. That even though it was difficult for him, Fenris desired such a thing as well. 

Fenris took a step back, and crossed his arms, "You are not cohering me. I ... I want to feel your touch on me. I would like to proceed."

Sebastian found his lips dry, and marvelled at the elf's strength, and that even when facing down one of his personal demons, he would have a thought for the vows Sebastian had sworn to. Sebastian stood, and then felt a blush rise to his cheeks. "I hope you do not think me too forward, but it might be best if we move to your bedroom, I cannot see the table being terribly comfortable."

****

Fenris undressed quickly, his posture strong and making no effort to hide himself. Sebastian tried not to stare at the sculpt of muscle over bone, and the way lyrium danced in pale winding twists across the surface of his skin. He sat on the bed, and Sebastian joined him to explain what he was going to do. He used cupped hands to warm a bottle of unscented oil he'd brought and thankfully forgotten to remove from his belt pouch. He'd contemplated using an oil fragranced with sandalwood, or willow, but had decided them, not least because he was not sure if such essences would irritate against the lyrium of Fenris's tattoos.

"I shall massage your hand first. You only have to say the word and I shall stop."

Sebastian poured the oil into his hands, and slid them together. 

Oil on skin, that wet almost obscene sound, filled the bedroom as he warmed his hands, and then held them out for Fenris. The elf watched as his hand was engulfed, and Sebastian could feel the arm jerk, trying to get away. There was a flicker of lyrium, but Fenris appeared to have control, forcing himself to allow Sebastian to rub and stroke over knuckle and palm. His thumbs and fingers pressed into the flesh of the hand, manipulating the muscle beneath, encouraging the joints to ease through their range of movement.

Sebastian pressed his thumb into the centre of the palm, and held it there till Fenris's eyes the wide look of uncertainty. He could feel the pulse of blood, rapid, and made fresh resolve to thank Fenris for his trust and bravery. 

"Compare your hands, do you feel the difference?"

Fenris, in a voice tight with tension, gave a nod. "Yes... My hand feels lighter. Warm down to the bones. Its .... pleasant."

"Do you wish to continue?"

A nod, firm, and Sebastian smiled. "I shall attend to your back next then. Settle upon the bed."

Slowly, he lay down on the bed, belly down, shuffling to the side to allow Sebastian to sit at his side.

"If it is painful, let me known."

"Painful?"

Sebastian gave a slight grimace, cursing himself for reintroducing that fearful spark within Fenris's eyes.

"You and I, we are men of battle, and our muscles can sometimes become very tense. I can work out the tension, but sometimes that can be a little sore if not done slowly."

That seemed to reassure the elf that any discomfort would be unintentional, and he settled, though still breathing a little fast. 

Sebastian added fresh oil to his hands and let them fall to rest upon the blades of Fenris's shoulders. The elf wriggled, breath coming harsh as he adjusted to the sensation, neck craned around to see. When the angle became awkward, he rested his head on his forearm, and swallowed his unease. Sebastian let the weight settle before starting to move his hands in small, careful circles.

He was kneeling, to better press down and give the pressure needed to coax the strain out of stubborn muscles. There was a small part of him gleeful that for all Isabella's lewd comments, _he_ was the one privy to seeing Fenris's skin glisten with oil. As the sheen spread over the smooth skin, he was surprised at the suppleness, rather than the almost leather-like texture he'd expect from a sun-marked warrior. Where he touched lyrium, he could feel the slight change in texture, the way the skin had hardened over the mineral, not quite flush with the surface of the flesh.

Fenris was uptight still, he could feel the twitch and jerk of muscles under his hands. Moving so his shoulder were over his spread hands, he let his elbows lock and transfer the weight downwards, skim compressing down as he pushed Fenris's back into the mattress. The weight, like a blanket, solidly concentrating on the flat of his backs, eased the air from his lungs, and Sebastian could see the tightness held in the back of the neck lessen.

He lifted his weight, and let Fenris breath, pleased to see the dance of agitated muscles settle. Slow, oiled palms gliding over contour and stretch of skin, Sebastian started to let his fingers guide him. He sought out the soft yield of muscle that gave under his hand, stroking along the line of the body using the ball of the thumb towards Fenris's heart. He avoided those muscles that remained rigid, Fenris's state not yet relaxed enough to try and coax the dense fibres to release their burden.

"You are very beautiful." he _felt_ Fenris's reaction, a flush of heat under the skin, a moment of tension that grasped every muscle along the spine. Head down, not looking at Sebastian, he saw the sway of white hair fall from side to side. Fenris was shaking his head. 

"You don't believe me?" Sebastian paused in his movements, hands settled at the base of the spine, keeping the contact.

Fenris propped himself up on his forearms, twisting to see Sebastian, but not so much that Sebastian's hands would have been displaced. He gave the archer a hard stare, mouth drawn tight.

"Do not waste your breath on such nonsense."

Sebastian had known that Fenris was not the type for endearments, and could be prickly at the best of times, but he has nurtured a small hope that perhaps he would tolerate Sebastian's compliments. Verbal appreciation was one of the few outlets left to him that he could share, and he wanted to see the sourness fall away as Fenris realised how truly beautiful he was.

However, the elf's back was mostly a solid set of knots, and no matter how he worked the flesh, easing the muscles to stretch and relax, it seemed that Fenris bore too much anxiety over the contact to let his guard down and let Sebastian work. With his hand, Fenris had gradually calmed. Sebastian frowned, feeling muscles like shipping rope under his fingers, ungiving, and wondered what the difference was that Fenris still was having so much difficulty. It might be the position, it was a fairly exposed pose, but then Fenris had little to no trouble exhibiting himself before. Sebastian, hit by a sudden revelation, smiled to himself and cleared his throat, 

"It feels good to finally get to touch you, to see the way your spine flexes as I caress your nerves."

"Why do you persist in speaking?" it was a low grumble, spoken into the pillow. "This is quite _difficult_ enough..." There was no venom in the words, more frustration at his own body's refusal to relax under the touch.

"You can not see me, but you can hear my voice. It is me behind you, touching you. If I keep talking, you'll not confuse my hands for any of the ghosts of your past. I think it will help." He did not have to mention the clutch of muscles coating Fenris's back, they both could feel the tension remain, stubborn and strong.

"Fine." It was a begrudging agreement, and Sebastian could tell he only had a short amount of time left before Fenris would lose his temper with the situation, and call things to a halt before any good could come of it. He licked his lips, and set about working into one of the particularity problematic knots at the base of the spine.

"In battle you are so very strong, I can feel your strength, it's writ in your body as clear as your tattoos... Such strength, but you hold so much stress in your muscles. Relax for me, let me ease the tension from you. Let it go...."

As he felt Fenris exhale, he found his fingers manage to press down deep into the muscle, something finally giving way to his insistent strokes. He dragged the heel of his palm over the spine upwards, and saw how the skin smoothed easily against the muscles, reddening as blood flowed freely to the tissue. Heat flooded the area, and Fenris gave a soft sigh, and sagged into the mattress. 

Sebastian could not help but smile, as his oiled fingers glided upwards, using thumbs in circular motions to continue with his success.

"Your skin is so warm, and slick now. Can you feel my hands, the way they grasp you, hold you? They look so pale against your skin, you have the rich tone of sunnier climes, but your hair reminds me of fresh snowfall. Hot and cold, passion hid by a frost exterior. Let me in, let me _see_ you."

That resulted in a louder moan from the elf, as a further muscle relented and went into repose. Sebastian could hear his accent creep into his voice, flavouring every word with the rich tones of his homeland. Rather than fight the change, he decided to allow it, a feeling of pressure lifting from his tongue as he allowed it to take on the Starkhaven dialect.

"You are making such pretty wee noises. Ah take it you are enjoying yourself?"

Fenris made an approving murmur, head nestled in the soft down of the pillow. Sebastian looked across his prone form, and chuckled softly as he saw a slight curl grip the hardened toes. He rose up on his knees, and started to press down deep with his fingers, heated oil allowing him to slid over the skin and feel the fibre and sinews beneath. In response, Fenris shifted, his body unsure of what to make of the touch against muscles so long locked into stiff brace. His soft sighs reassured Sebastian that he was not hurting the elf, quite the opposite, but the sight of the twist and flex of the back under his hands sparked in him desire, sure and strong, burning away his good intentions. 

His fingers found a clutch of muscles under the shoulderblade, still tight, probably resulting from the oversized sword Fenris bore in battle. He began to work against the offending tenseness methodically, his whole body rocking to provide the deep pressure that would release the stresses. He was aware of the bed creaking, a slow rhythmic metronome, and he could almost imagine what it would feel like to plunge himself into Fenris, to feel the tightness of his body wrap around him. Such thoughts brought a blush to his cheeks, as he realised how close he was to slipping his hands further down to run over lyrium stained buttocks. 

He renewed his assault on the drawn fibres under the shoulderblades, if only to distract himself from the tempting curve of the elf's rear. His hands ached, his own muscles protesting the effort, but for the sounds Fenris was making, half exhalation, half throaty breaths of pleasure, he would continue all night.

"It is very sexy, very alluring, with your skin aglow and muscles shiftin' just below the surface just so. Ah won't be able to look at you the same, not without picturin' this moment, and how you writhe for me. Just for me."

Under his hands, he could feel Fenris's pulse hammering, and there was a stir of hips.

"..........stop." Fenris whispered, and it took Sebastian a second to remove his hands, the chill of the loss of contact starting him. Fenris turned, slowly, frowned at Sebastian. "...Don't Stop." he repeated, the pillow having muffled his previous sentence. His voice was husky, and his pupils were dilated into deep pits of arousal. As he fell back against the bed, Sebastian saw that he had to wriggle to make room for his growing erection beneath him.

Sebastian let out a breath of relief, he wasn't sure he could be trusted to actually bring things to a halt, not with the sounds and sight of Fenris halfway to completion. He ran hands up the length of Fenris's back, warming them again before returning to the problematic shoulderbaldes. Lyrium flared in his wake, and he marvelled at the soft glow of magic embedded into the skin.

"The tattoos, ah know you do not like to talk about them... but maker help me, ah would dearly love to lick them. Ta feel the buzz of lyrium on my tongue, taste your skin, your sweat... Taste you."

Any objections Fenris might have had to the mention of his markings were drowned out by a long moan as Sebastian manipulated the knots, slowly pressed deeper and harder into the grip of muscle. He was not unaffected by the moan, and Sebastian could feel himself, stiff and awkward as he knelt against his friend. His movements stroked clothes against his manhood, and he could not resist the urge to go faster, deeper.

There would be pain, as the muscle resisted the call to give up its tension, but Fenris seemed not to mind, or care. His breath started to grow ragged, desperate.

"So very beautiful....." He muttered, as Fenris raised his hips from the bed, arching into Sebastian's massaging hands.

He finally managed to run his fingers over the muscle in a way that unlocked the tension. Fenris gave a jerk as the muscle sang out, a breathy gasp escaping from his wide open mouth. The elf beat his hips into the mattress, once, twice and then he was still, a familiar scent of musk filling the room.

Sebastian let up on the pressure then, softening his touch to light caresses against now malleable muscle, rubbing away the last traces of tension from Fenris. As his palms lifted, fingers just whispering against curve and ridge of Fenris's back, he realised that Fenris was moving to meet the touch, spine curling, no sign of flinch or unease.

That satisfaction brought him to lean back, and briefly touch himself. His straining erection did not need much encouragement, and he slipped his trousers down just in time to catch the spurt of seed that raced from him. Haze pleasure flooded him, and he rocked slightly, trying to keep balance. Hands, gentle and strong, clasped him by his shoulders and guided him to sit more stable on the bed. Fenris sat beside him, smiling softly.

As if to prove their success, he rose up, and carefully planted a kiss upon the prince's forehead, lips warm and only slightly moist.

"Thank you." he said, stretching his arms out to explore his new found flexibility. Sebastian, still a little dazed from his own exertion, reached up and touched his fingers to where he had been kissed, and brought them to his lips, eyes dreamlike and content. He caught himself, and gave a hoarse noise of surprise, fingers pushed from him as if tainted.

"I am glad to have been able to help." they both could hear the clipped tone of carefully formed words, his accent once again forced from his tongue.

Fenris, seemed to understand the conflict of Sebastian's vows, and gave a little nod. He sat back, and drew the sheets to cover himself. After a moment of heavy uncomfortable silence, he gave his lips a brief lick, and turned to Sebastian.

"I have a bottle of wine, if you'd care to stay...."

Sebastian saw the light of hope shining in those green eyes, and part of him was tempted to take Fenris up on his offer. The other part of him however, loud and demanding, drew his attention to the fact that he had touched Fenris, and taken pleasure in it. Even brought Fenris to pleasure. It might not have been explicitly stated in his vows that he could not give massage, but he doubted very much that Elthina or the maker would approve of his actions. Would hardly approve of the filthy thoughts that had seized him concerning Fenris, and the depths of him. Thoughts of not just bending his vows, but casting them off entirely.

Guilt clutched him, and he shook his head. "I ought to get back to the chantry.... "

He saw the look in Fenris's face, approaching rejection, and his heart tensed at the sight. "But," he said hurriedly, " I would like to see you again."

Fenris gave a slow nod, and smiled. "I would very much like that."


	4. Chapter 4

His late night meetings with Fenris had set Sebastian's sleeping pattern askew, and dawn no longer could rouse him from his slumber. He was not late for morning prayer, but neither was he his usual timely self, so often having been one of the very first to bow head and give thanks while the chill of night still filled the chantry hall. 

Sebastian felt that Elthina must have noticed the change in his hour of rising, but so far the high cleric had not commented upon it. Nor did she make mention of the deep bags under his eyes when she saw him that morning, his recent nightmare fresh in his mind and harrowing him still.

The exact details eluded him, hazy and non-coherent to his memory. He could recall his hands itching, as if coated in vinegar. The skin around his fingernails and the calluses on his fingers from his bowstring had stung, and no amount of rubbing or washing could cleanse them. Then they started to burn. He'd doused them in water, in a font similar to the chantry ornamental in the gardens. As he plunged his hands into the clear water, the liquid had steamed away as if his hands were firebrands, the hot steam blinding him. Soon, the water was gone, and he felt no release to the dream-pain. The skin stretched across his fingers had then started to blister and bubble, like an abomination breaking through his own flesh. He had awoke in a cold sweat, and there was a nervous tingle to his hands, as if the fade might seep through and bring his horror to reality.

He'd taken enough confessions to recognise the guilt and its transference, and could easily see the connection between yesterday's massage and his ruined hands. It had been marvellous to touch Fenris, and break past the former slave's reservations, but it _had_ trespassed against his vows, he could see that now. Whether his nightmare had been sent by the maker to steer him from his course, or a self-inflicted punishment stemming from the guilt of breaching the trust placed in him made little difference. He could not touch Fenris like that again.

Part of him ached at the thought, albeit it was the part of him that had led him to brothel after pub after brothel in his past. The part of him no amount of prayer seemed to silence, though his intentions and resolve were pure. It was the voice of temptation, that would lead him from the Maker's light if he were to give in. 

He hoped that Fenris would understand.

*****

Over the time spent together, Sebastian had learnt how to read Fenris. Even though the elf stood still and attentive, he could plainly see the sorrow at his explanation that he could not offer a second massage, or any other form of touch beyond a handshake. When Fenris was caught up in his past, it was evident in the tightening around his throat, as if Danarius still had control over even his breath. Anger was held in his hands, clenched fist quietly betraying his emotions. Sorrow however, shone like the promise of tears in his green eyes.

"It is entirely my misjudgement." Sebastian was keen that Fenris did not feel his decision was due to some fault of Fenris's part, "I ought to have better anticipated the intimate nature of a massage..."

"So... you regret it?"

"No. Never." 

Sebastian watched Fenris exhale with a sigh of relief, and cursed himself for not reassuring the elf more adequately. He drew a weary breath and forced himself to continue, "It is just the vows. I... I am sorry."

"So you wish to discontinue our .. sessions?"

"No." he spoke the word before he could properly analyse the question.

Fenris's face then shifted to something Sebastian had not seen on the elf before, but recognised as a one his own frequent expressions of his youth; mischief.

"Good." the elf grinned around the word, and gestured to the seat by the table. "I shall be right back."

Sebastian slumped into the chair, wondering at the wisdom in continuing. His nights with Fenris had all but consumed his thoughts over the last week, and he knew his prayers had been left lacking as a result. Yet, he felt at peace when in Fenris's presence. More than just the wondrous release he and Fenris shared, he felt he had found a person he could talk to, talk with. He was happy. 

Whilst he could tell that he was walking a very fine line between sin and salvation, he could not give up on Fenris. Not the friendship they had built, not the gradual healing of the deep wounds that Fenris had carried from Tevinter. Nor what Fenris offered Sebastian; sexual release and gratification, without the guilt or shame that hung over more 'normal' encounters. The elf had brought new and interesting opportunities to the table, and not once shied from the blockades that Sebastian's vows imposed.

It would be permissible, he decided, to carry on. Fenris seemed obliging to accept that touch was off limits, and it was far better that Sebastian sate his desires with someone who understood, rather than have them drive him to the Blooming Rose after too many nights of pent up frustration.

Satisfied that he was operating within the confines of his vows, Sebastian leant back to await Fenris's return. 

And though he had done many things in his past that were both exotic and unusual, when Fenris did return and place an item on the table, he could not stop both his brows arching in surprise.

The elf had changed into a cloth gown, and in his noiseless movements Sebastian could guess that the elf was not wearing much beneath the rough cotton. His eyes, however, were drawn to the rather large carved marble phallus, sitting proudly on the table.

Fenris watched him struggle to form words for only a few moments before sitting on the table and running a finger up its considerable length.

"I took your advice and bought something for myself.... It is a little bigger than anything I have used before but.. Well... it reminded me of you."

Sebastian could not bring himself to point out the obvious size difference, even a qunari would have difficulty in comparing with the item in question, but looking closer (and Maker, how could he help but stare) he did see pale golden flecks running along the seams of the white marble. Just like his armour.

He swallowed, surprised at how harsh his throat felt so quickly. "it must have cost a small fortune." he muttered, and wished he had kept his mouth shut. He was about to apologise for his comment when he caught the sound of Fenris sighing heavily. He pulled his eyes from the marble, and leaned forward so that he could better see and decipher the expression on Fenris's face, a mixture of anger and sadness, but not directed at anything in the room.

"Fenris?" he asked softly.

"I was saving, I told you that much." Fenris's voice was low, and his eyes not meeting Sebastian's, "I had been trying to gather enough coin to bring my sister here."

Sebastian gave a small nod, buying passage for someone else was a complicated matter, and not cheap, but doable given Hawke's tendency to stumble across treasure and coin at nearly every turn. The champion of Kirkwall was fair, and made sure his companions received equal payment for the dangers they fought against. True, he would then try to win it back through games of wicked grace and diamondback, but the initial intention was righteous enough for the rogue.

"Hadriana.. lied?" he guessed, remembering the desperate pleas for her life as the blood mage lay at Fenris's feet. It would not have surprised him that the magisters final words inflicted yet more pain upon the former slave.

"No. She was truthful, but the sheer cost in coin is too much. I shall never be able to save my sister."

Sebastian had asked for explanation, and Fenris recounted, in a flat voice, how for the past he had been trying to secure passage down at the docks, but between his blunt and aggressive manner, and being an elf, it seemed he had either been denied outright, or charged entirely ludicrous amounts. The prince very carefully did not mention that demanding assurance that the ship was never used to trade or transport slaves probably had not helped matters, and that a certain amount of shrewdness was required to ensure that once coin was handed over, it actually made it to the right hand. He was altogether relieved that Fenris was not attempting to dally with assassins, and though Sebastian himself was not well-versed in the act of transporting money and elves from Tevinter, he figured that through Hawke's reputation, it could be done.

"I think I can help." he said, clasping his hands together. "It _will_ be expensive, and you will have to make it worth the time of the ships' captain by withholding part of the payment until the job is done. I should think it will cost about 30 gold... Less if you are willing to have Isabella help with the bartering. She may be crass, but she is a pirate and for once we could use her expertise on the subject of boatmen."

Fenris's jaw dropped, but he quickly clicked it closed with a snap of teeth. "They told me at least 120 gold, up front..... " The elf's knuckles were whitening, and Sebastian was sure that Fenris was considering storming down to the docks and flaring lyrium viciously at the dockhands who had been so intent of taking advantage. He wouldn't have stopped him, save for the fact that it would make further deals with the shipping community rather more complicated.

"Have you the 30 gold?" he said, cutting into Fenris's murderous glare. He blinked, and looked to Sebastian.

"I have."

"Then tomorrow I suggest we try and find Isabella and go and make some enquiries. It may take a day or two, but I am confident we can bring your sister safely to port by autumn."

The anger left Fenris at the thought, and his hands fell open. Sebastian too, felt the tension leave the room, strange reassurance soothing his troubled conscience. The maker worked in ways mysterious and complex, for if he had decided to bring things to a close with Fenris, the elf would have not confided in him and been able to gain his assistance in saving his sister. It was like a sign, a blessing, to continue.

"I am grateful." Fenris said finally. Anyone else might have elaborated, gone into florid verse about the depths of their thanks, but Fenris merely stood from the table and lifted his hands to the ties of his robe. He waited, eyes flicking to the phallus, just a little bit of caution behind the raw greed. Sebastian nodded to the elf, once, free from any doubt, and watched the robe fall away, revealing Fenris, naked and ready.

He lifted up one knee, and drew himself gracefully onto the table, kneeling before Sebastian and the pale marble. Sebastian at once took in the clever positioning of the chair where he sat, as if to dine at the table. From here, the phallus sat over his hips, and he could easily imagine that there was no table, no dildo, no _vows_ between him and the elf staring hungrily at him.

Green eyes deep and clear locked with his, as Fenris opened his mouth slightly and slid the point of his tongue over the crown of the marble. Delicately, he licked at the smooth surface, the colour of his tongue bright and vivid against the paleness of the stone. A soft 'mmmmm' crept from his throat as he started to lap against the sculpted curves, making them gleam with the lingering trace of his spit.

From past experience, Sebastian knew to move a hand and carefully pull himself from his trousers, pushing his breeches down around his thighs. He was already hard, the sight of every sweep of tongue against marble summoning a ghost of sensation to whisper across his exposed flesh.

Partly to distract himself from the rampant rush of blood to his shaft, partly because an entirely too delicious notion had occurred to him, Sebastian twisted in his seat to collect the bottle of wine on the stand. He had refused the glass offered to him upon entering Fenris's home, but that noted the bottle was already open. Now, neck of the bottle firmly in hand, he tipped some of the ruby liquid over the marble, letting it run down the length in little rivulets.

Fenris, crouched as if to pounce, chuckled. He ran the flat of his tongue up the shaft, lazily chasing the drips and dribbles around the flare of the base. He looked up, and Sebastian could see a stray drop cling to the elf's bottom lip. Fenris, caught it on a finger and pointedly sucked it off, and gave an appreciative murmur.

"Smooth on the tongue..." He started, voice deep and soft, "and very full bodied. Almost overwhelming, but I think has the promise of being an unforgettable experience."

Slightly stunned at the way Fenris's tone seemed to send his nerves ablaze, Sebastian watched as Fenris dipped his head and pushed the side of his face against the marble. Cheek to stone, nuzzling the dildo, so close that he could see the haze in his eyes and the way his lips had swollen and darkened.

He drew a breath that shuddered in pleasure within his throat, and Fenris shot him a sly grin as he flashed teeth and ran them lightly around the side, lips following to suck against the stone. There was a sound almost like the wet noise of a kiss as he worked down one side, head dipping and arse in the air as he sucked at the phallus. As he reached the wide-flare of the base, he pulled backwards slightly, and started to lick his lips, slowly. Once his mouth was ringed in wetness, he opened his jaw wide and started to take in the hard marble.

Sebastian could see Fenris struggle with the size, and the way the stone was solid and large. The small huffs of air as Fenris managed to encompass the top in his mouth, caused Sebastian to pant in sympathy. Jaw uncomfortably wide, and lips stretched like a scream, it should not have been something to heat the blood in the way it did. Sebastian felt a pang of guilt, as he took it the way Fenris's adam's apple bobbed as he forced his mouth down, body twitching and jerking as he fought the gag reflex. Then, he _sucked_.

Cheeks hollowed and nose flaring to drag in enough air, Fenris rose and lowered himself, hard stone filling his mouth, small reedy noises of effort forming around the fat phallus.

Throughout it all, his eyes never left Sebastian, and the prince felt naked under the intense stare. 

Fenris pulled back, rocking his body backwards, jaw hanging open for a long moment before he could work movement back into it. He licked his lips again, and rose up on his knees, and started to lick the fingers of one hand, the other snaking behind him to pull apart his buttocks. His cock jutted out from his body, not yet solidly swollen but getting there. He paused, and tipped his head to Sebastian.

"There is the massage oil on the stand beside you.... Can you oil the dildo for me...?" It was a question of his vows, rather than Sebastian's ability to open a bottle of oil and apply it.

Sebastian's hand, normally so sure to draw bowstring, shook as he reached for the massage oil.

The thing was a piece of masterful craftsmanship, a almost liquid smoothness but not a simple shaft. There were dips and gentle flares over the surface, and though it would be cold compared to wood, Sebastian had no doubt the weight would more than make up for it. It felt heavy in his hands, as he carefully poured oil from the bottle into his hands and spread it over the surface of the stone.

Fingers glided over the pale marble, and he took his time to ensure the entire length was suitably coated. As wide as an elf's forearm, it would be a challenge for Fenris. Quietly, he wondered at what horrors he had been subjected to to have him view this as anything other than torture. He nearly cast the marble aside, trying to protect Fenris from his own ambition, but when he looked up, he saw a raw hunger playing in the elf's eyes. Not quite feral, but wild all the same. He swallowed, and held out the phallus to Fenris, knowing his eyes reflected his doubts, but leaving it to Fenris to make his own choice. 

Fenris tipped two fingers forward, and stroked them across the head of the phallus. He gave a small smile, "It's warm from your hands... I'll have to beg your patience, it will take me a little bit longer before I am ready."

"Take as much time as you need... But please, do not hurt yourself...." 

Fenris then leant forwards, and nudged himself open with the fingers, no doubt using whatever oil had lingered on his fingertips to ease through the tight muscle. He gave a soft grunt and met Sebastian's concern with an almost amused expression.

"I assure you, I have endured much much worse. Colder too." He swallowed, as he explained, and Sebastian could see the difficulty he had in fighting the noose of his past, "Danarius used to make ice rods, and use them on me. Rarely was I given time to prepare myself, nor a healer afterwards."

He did not looked to see Sebastian's response to the statement, instead twisted his hand to a more comfortable position. From his seat, Sebastian could not see the fingers slip inside, but the little 'oh' noises emitting from the elf told him that Fenris was in deep. His wrist rocked as he held his hips steady against his fingers, and a warm flush brought colour to his cheeks and chest. 

Sebastian nearly dropped the weight of stone, and hurriedly placed it upon the table as he watched Fenris stretch himself. 

"Then... why...? Why do this, if it holds such painful associations?" his voice cracked, as he struggled to understand. Struggled to keep making the effort to understand as Fenris pushed his hips into his hand, and jolted suddenly as his fingers found his inner nerve centre, the sight making Sebastian throb in sympathy. It took Fenris a moment before he could answer the archer.

"Because I am to understand that such things are usually much more pleasurable, and I will not let Danarius be my only experience. I will overwrite those dark memories myself. I will make fresh memories, with someone I care about."

Sebastian was speechless, and Fenris too, seemed surprised at his own words. He took a deep breath, chest rising, the slight tremble to his frame revealing his readiness. He brought both hands to his thighs, and moved onto his knees. The table creaked under his weight, but the old oak held steady as he found his balance, back straight and knees wide apart.

"You still look like I am about to swallow my own sword, so let me put your mind at ease. I want this." He ran a hand up the phallus, moving it to align with his entrance. He rocked his hips gently over the tip of the marble, one hand behind him to steady the stone, the other resting on his thigh.

He looked up, and gave Sebastian a small smile as he let himself rest upon the crown of the phallus. His thighs tensed, as he lowered himself, unable to speak save for soft grunts of effort as he bid his body open up to the intrusion. Pausing, forcing himself to breathe, he shifted his hips slightly, spreading his knees further. With a slow, uninhibited groan, he sank down. His face creased as the muscles gave way to marble, cool and solid, stretching him wide. 

Sebastian watched as he bobbed on his knees, taking in a little at a time, moving up and down the stone shaft to ease the push deep into his gut. He breathed like a man wounded, heavy, desperate drags of air into his lungs, punctuated with the occasional huff as he dipped lower and lower. At last, with a triumphant bark of laughter, he sat on the table, only the wide base of the phallus visible.

"Oh.. it feels... I can hardly describe... Full, stuffed. And so, so good...."

Fenris swayed, and Sebastian was able to leap to his feet to catch him when he realised the elf was moving in such a way the table was pushing against the dildo. Lifting his hips upwards, only to let them slip down again. He was, Sebastian blushed as the phrase came into his mind, unbidden and vulgar and entirely accurate, _fucking_ himself on the marble.

"I can feel it, all the way it. Can feel my body around it... The coolness is nice, it eases the burning of the stretch. Its thick, and long, and sits deep within me." He was moving more boldly, rising up and then plunging down, pupils darkly filling his eyes, his skin beaded with sweat. The sound of marble hitting wetly against his buttocks filled the room.

"Keep goin'...." Sebastian whispered, his voice hoarse, and jaw hanging slack at the slight of the white stone appear and disappear into the elf. He fancied he could see the faintest of impressions when the marble was fully embedded, Fenris's taunt and lean form bulging around the navel. The whole scene stole his breath, and he moved to stroke himself in time with the push of the phallus into Fenris.

His hand had never felt so heated against his tender skin, his blood never pounded so strong in his veins. He gave a feeble little cry as his manhood started to leak, and then, biting his lip and hoping the maker had mercy, used his thumb to smear the fluid over the head. He gasped, the thrill and throb something he had denied himself, and fought to suppress his urge to take his member and simply pump it to reaction. He instead took his time, fingers finding the sections where the sensation was most pleasant, alternating firm grips with teasing fingertips.

" _Maker_ ," he choked out, as Fenris sped up, thumping against the table. "Yur such a sight. A wonderful, gorgeous sight."

"You like what you see..." A statement, not a question, "You like to watch me, my..." Fenris trailed off. 

With a breath, steadying him both mentally and where he knelt on the table, Fenris looked to Sebastian, "To watch me with my ... _ass_ full of white and gold. Stuffed so full I can hardly breathe." Fenris's eyes pierced him as the elf watched to see the prince's reaction. Sebastian could no more hide his flare of heat at the words than he could stop his hand as he rubbed deep up and down his swollen flesh. Though the coarse language should have made his ears burn, instead they rekindled a memory of his earlier days, purposefully seeking out the most depraved and vulgar language, if only to shock his peers and horrify his parents. He'd discovered the heady way such words could make the heart race, when spoken in the right tone, and though he had tried to put such things behind him, his body had not forgotten.

Sebastian gave a low growl, voice like gravel, "yes..."

Fenris gave a shy smile, slightly strained with the effort of enduring the stretch of himself. "I like you watching me..." He confessed, softly.

That send a fresh pulse of need through Sebastian, and he clenched his hand tight, brow furrowing. "Ah'm close. So very close....." He warned.

Fenris reached with his hand to press two fingers gently against the skin between his sac and where the phallus was buried, the touch caused him to buck upwards, stone moving with him as he jolted from the sensation. "Ah! "

Fenris's cock took on a hardness to match that inside him, and Fenris gave a soundless cry from his open mouth as he both worked the dildo, and the gland caught between his fingers and the stone inside him. His cock was stiff and hard, and untouched started to spurt. 

Sebastian followed Fenris's release, shuddering as his seed escaped. He curled forward so that his head rested on the table, the dampness of sweat on his own brow sinking into the wood. 

He heard, rather than saw, the noise of the dildo being pulled out, a wet sucking sound, and Fenris's quiet gasp as the marble was laid down on the table. He could feel the wood dip under his head as Fenris collapsed, chest heaving but a sound sweet sound of satisfaction coming out between each breath.

After such a display Fenris was sure to be exhausted, so Sebastian forced his legs to work and he went to fetch the various washcloths and spare clothes that had been placed in the corner. When he turned, Fenris was laying on his back, and taking a well-earned swig from the wine bottle. He twisted lazily to look the prince in the eye, and gave a grin.

"You know, it used to take me an age to feel the effects of what I did, or what was done to me, when I performed for my master.... This, this is different. I enjoy watching you watch me, seeing you pant with desire and knowing I am the cause.... It has a rather detrimental effect on my stamina...."

He chuckled darkly, and then offered the wine bottle to Sebastian in exchange for a damp cloth. Sebastian placed the wine bottle on the stand, without drinking. 

"I'm glad. Not quite sure if I could have stood much more." each sound crisp, pronounced clear and sharp.

Fenris cocked his head to the side, eyes still hazy. "Your accent.... It gets stronger when you are excited."

Sebastian gave a nervous cough, and sat down in the chair. "Indeed... It is something I try not to lapse into. The Starkhaven accent can be considered inelegant. I spent long hours as a child being trained out of it, same as all my siblings."

"Hmm.. I like it. It's gentle, soft.. warm." Fenris diverted his eyes briefly, "it suits you."

Sebastian raised a brow, surprised. He'd always been told his accent was something to be ashamed of, to be mocked and ridiculed, much like his devotion to the chantry. It was strange to hear a contrasting opinion.

"I'll bear that in mind..." He said with a smirk, and settled into the hold of the chair. Fenris, with effort, managed to get the muscles of his body to hold some sort of tension and wrapped himself in his discarded robe, going to drag a chair over from where it had been pushed aside. He slumped into it, and gathered the wine bottle into his arms with a blissful expression.

Sebastian would have liked to simply sit back and enjoy the warm tingle of the afterglow, but an unpleasant nip tugged at his mind. He felt guilt again, already, and in an effort to dismiss it, went over his vows. He could see not break in his promises, and had he not thought just before that he'd been given a sign it was permissible to proceed. Was the guilt just a conditioned reflex of enjoyment, that if he was finding pleasure it must be sinful? He knew he would seek the answers in his prayers tomorrow morning. 

But that was tomorrow, for this rest of the evening, he had an elf, exerted and exhilarated, all to himself.


	5. Chapter 5

Several days later.

Isabella, all curves and colourful fabrics, sidled up to him, a wicked grin playing in the corners of her lips. Sebastian gave a courteous nod, and then turned his head back to the Hightown street, where they were to gather for Hawke's latest adventure. He tried to ignore Isabella, as she tilted her hips, and pouted, then finally laid one of her hands flat against his chest-plate.

"Sebastian, sweetie, I do believe you are ignoring me."

"I am keeping a lookout for Hawke." voice flat, with just a hint of irritation. Fenris had taught him that the right stance, coupled with an aggressive attitude could deter the various prying and questioning the other companions seemed to thrive on. He had no wish to fuel such gossip, especially given Isabella's completely guttered mind.

Isabella then let her hands drop to her sides, and gave a snort of amusement. "You can hardly miss him. He'll be the one waving a dagger about like it was a flag, and shouting at the top of his lungs to rally up and get going. He is the single most unstealthy rogue I have ever come across... No, I think the problem here is that you don't much like me...."

Sebastian turned to the woman, and swallowed thickly. The problem was not that he did not like Isabella, quite the opposite. She was attractive, and in his youth he'd have leapt at the chance of dallying with a like-mind person, both of them focused on the moment, free to pursue pleasure without commitment. She reminded him of himself, and seemed to personify all the sin and temptation he'd pledged to leave behind. And Maker take her it if she didn't appear to be having a fantastic time of it.

Of course, letting her know this would only encourage the pirate, and Sebastian did not think he would be able to remain civil (or chaste) if she rubbed against him much more than she already chanced. Instead, he'd adopted the tactic of imagining her as a disease-ridden wench. Unsavoury perhaps, but the thought of the contracting pox or groinrot was more than enough to dampen the fires within. It also gave him a strange tolerance for Isabella, after all in his mind, she probably did not have much longer on this earth before her sexual escapades claimed her health and then her life.

He had no doubt that to construct such a fantasy just to quell any desire Isabella might invoke was extreme, and hardly a virtuous act, but when compared to how well Avealine and Isabella got on, like two fighting cats in a sack, it seemed a worthwhile strategy.

"I like you well enough." he replied, after a seconds deliberation. Isabella gave a mock huff and crossed her arms across her chest. 

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

Isabella tipped her head to one side and used a fingernail to pick something from her teeth. She shot Sebastian a half-serious glare. "Fine.... And you can tell Fenris that ships take time to sail across the waters. He keeps pestering me if I have heard any word from the man we sent to Tevinter. It's only been a week!"

Sebastian raised a brow; "Pestering...? Fenris?"

Isabella threw her hands up into the air, "Yes! Every day its 'Isabella. Has there been any word...?' Over and over, I'd have told him off myself, but he makes those sweet puppy eyes and I just don't have the heart to shout at him to shut up and leave it to the wind to take the ships to where they are headed."

"There are no puppy eyes...."

Sebastian had seen Fenris stalk up behind Isabella, and though her impression of Fenris was suitably gruff the elf seemed unimpressed. Isabella twisted and both hands were on daggers before she recognised her ally, and she straightened with a smirk.

"Oh but there are... Ask Merrill."

"I shall not be asking the witch anything..."

Silence settled, as Sebastian scanned the streets to make sure Merrill had not heard the comment. Blood mage or not, she could probably draw tears from a qunari when her bottom lip started to tremble. Satisfied that she was nowhere to be seen, he gave Fenris a pointed look. He gave a grunt in response.

They'd both agreed that they would keep their meetings secret, but the lack of recognition hurt all the same. Sebastian knew that Fenris did not want to invite the prying eyes and wagging tongues into his private life, and respected that. Still... it seemed the elf that took up position, eyes forward and battle ready, was a completely different creature to the one he'd seen so often once the solid oak of Fenris's door had shut to separate them from the rest of the city. He found himself missing Fenris, even though he was right there.

Hawke arrived shortly after, with all of Isabella's foretold bluster, Varric and Anders following closely behind. He announced he'd found a den of slavers, new to the city, who had not had the forethought to wonder at the lack of slaving trade to and from Kirkwall. They obviously had not heard that the reason for the shortage was a half-mad rogue who could move like a striking snake and then crack the most terrible joke, and an elf with a very large sword, who each had little tolerance for their particular vocation.

They headed to the docks, Sebastian and Varric bringing up the read, their ranged weapons dictating their position in the group. Anders tried again to raise the comparison between slaves and mages, and Fenris threatened to tear out his tongue. Hawke tried valiantly to mediate before things got glowy, and Isabella, typically, made a poor attempt not to laugh at the scene.

Sebastian watched as Fenris stomped off ahead to scout the area while Hawke and Anders had a hushed exchange of words, followed by Hawke pressing his lips to the mage's cheek. That seemed to settle Anders, and give Isabella distraction for the rest of the journey.

The slavers had set up in a warehouse, and though the unfortunate slaves had been gagged, the group of adventurers had been able to hear the whimpering from the street. Hawke had known better than to try and sneak in, Fenris already glowing brightly and in process of kicking in the door. Then there was the clash of steel, and shouts, the crackle of magic and the twang of bow and crossbow, and then, as the noise settled, Hawke's triumphant "We'd have left some of you alive, but none of you were that pretty!"

Just as the last slaver was gurgling at the end of a blade, Sebastian's bowstring snapped. The end whipped up and sliced across his cheek, and he uttered a brief cry of surprise. He felt blood trickle down from the cut, but thankfully the cord had missed his eye. He looked at his bow, glad the battle was over, the smooth wood useless without its string, like an unstrung harp. Varric gave a disapproving tut. 

"Bianca is better behaved than _that_." He muttered, stroking the handle of his weapon with alarming closeness. 

Sebastian put his bow away, and moved to pull the knife from his boots to somewhere he could reach in case of trouble on the way out. Hawke was accepting the praise of the freed slaves, basking in the glory like an overgrown lizard, grinning to himself. 

Fenris saw Sebastian bleeding, and limped over, one of the slavers had apparently taken objection to his habit of phasing through sword blows, and kicked him hard in the thigh.

"You want I should call Anders over?" Sebastian asked softly, knowing there was no love lost between the two. 

"I do not want that mage touching me..." he hissed, low enough that only Sebastian could hear.

"As you wish, but you _are_ hurt, and Anders can have you mended before you know it."

"You are hurt too..." Fenris said, pointing to the archer's face.

Sebastian raised a hand to his cheek, and his fingers came away bloody. It was not the first time a bowstring had caused him to bleed, and he doubted it would not be the last. A great sigh of relief at the near miss of his eye slipped past his lips, and he saw Fenris's face tighten in response. He flashed a wide smile to show it was just a minor injury. Fenris's concern was touching, and Sebastian could not stop himself from reaching over and giving him a slight squeeze on his arm. Fenris's lyrium remained inert, much to his relief, and he let go before Isabella caught sight of them and started to ask awkward questions. 

"Sebastian!" 

The archer looked up to see Hawke waving him over. He gave Fenris an apologetic glance, and strode over. 

"They ain't from around here, and most are willing to work for the coin to get themselves back home... But they'll need somewhere to stay. Somewhere safe... Perhaps with the pleasant harmonics of choral verse...?" Hawke gave one of his trademark winning smiles, and Sebastian knew immediately that he would be given responsibility for housing the ex-slaves. He nearly outright refused, Hawke could very well go to the chantry himself, it was a free house of worship after all, but then he saw Fenris. The elf was staring at him, waiting to see what he would do for the slaves. He could not bear to let Fenris down, so, after giving Hawke a pointed look of 'you owe me...', lifted his hands and called for the slaves to gather to him.

It took the archer an hour to herd the freed slaves from the docks to the chantry (Hawke long since disappeared to the Hanged Man's for a celebratory jug of ale), and a great deal of talking to ease Elthina's shock at the sudden influx of bodies. The next three hours was spent sorting the people out, learning their skills and names, and seeing that everyone was fed, clothed and had a warm bed for the night. 

By the end of it, he desperately wanted to see Fenris, and so, even though the moon had full dominion and the dawn was not far, he headed towards Fenris's mansion.

***

Fenris answered the door after only a short while of knocking, fully dressed and apparently not sleeping despite the late hour. He gave a rather too-wide grin and ushered Sebastian inside. 

"I had a feeling you would pay me a visit tonight."

"Oh?" Sebastian was honestly curious, his mind had been otherwise occupied, and it wasn't until he was satisfied he had done the Maker's good work (and Hawke's dirty work) that he had allowed himself the privilege of thinking for himself. 

He allowed Fenris to guide him through and offer a seat and a glass of wine. As Sebastian took the glass, poured only half full as was his preference, Fenris then placed an object on the table. It was a cane, thin, and the wood looked so pale it looked almost white. Sebastian sat down, but did not try to hide the frown tightening his forehead.

"I am not sure what to think." he admitted, finally.

"Come now, surely we have reached a point where we need not be ashamed for what gives us pleasure?" Fenris wore a crooked smile, and leant against the table, drinking from his own glass (unchipped, Sebastian noted). 

"You are mistaken."

Fenris shook his head, and moved from the table to pace around beside the prince, watching Sebastian intently. "I think not. Let me tell you a story; once, when I lived under Danarius's rule, there was a slave. He made mistakes, like every other slave before him, but when his master raised the whip, he did not find it a disciplinary measure. He enjoyed the punishment, and became excited at the thought of it. _excited_ , you understand.... At first, the fact the slave could find pleasure in pain was remarked upon, and tolerated and demonstrated as a curiosity. Danarius would beat the slave in public, and let others see the reaction. Soon though, the slave became unruly. Rather than his behaviours being corrected, he would purposefully disobey in order to get the whip. The beatings grew increasingly harsh, the sound would rattle through the mansion night after night after night, but still the slave did not heed the warnings. He found some sort of relief in the pain, and Danarius could not beat that out of him."

Sebastian fell silent. He knew better than to ask what became of the slave. No doubt Danarius would have found a new method of discipline, he seemed the sort who could force his will in frighteningly creative ways. That, or the slave was bleed out for a blood magic ritual, or simply executed as an example. There would be no happy ending to Fenris's tale, and Sebastian wondered at the point of it.

"I saw you today, you were cut, but smiling. I think you too, sometimes need the pain as a release.... I would provide that, if you were willing...?"

Sebastian looked at the cane, and then at Fenris. The elf looked so pleased at his deduction, Sebastian had not the heart to admit that the idea of being struck with the cane did not excite him. That it was Fenris's concern that had brought his lips to a curl.

Yet... He knew of those who did enjoy the kiss of pain, and though he had tried many things in his youth, this had been omitted due to lack of opportunity. Princes did not survive long if they were too hasty to let someone take a weapon to them. It certainly would not threaten his vows, and as he had come to know Fenris, perhaps the elf had learn his own essence, and knew him better than he knew himself. Fenris certainly had not shirked from any of the challenges Sebastian had posed, surely it would be only fair if he was to try something he found unnerving. He swallowed, and stood up.

"How... How would you like me placed...?"

Fenris gave a low sound, like the pant of a mabari, and gestured to the table. "Clothes off first...." He said quietly, and seemed genuinely surprised as Sebastian reached to start to undo the buckles of his armour.

He only realised as the last piece of metal was placed carefully upon the chair, that Fenris had not seen him naked. He slowed himself, taking time to lift the tunic over his head, and then fold it with his bare back towards the elf. He knew he was attractive, working the bow had granted him a well defined chest, and though pale from lack of sunlight, he had just the slightest hint of hair running up from his belly to colour his body. He glanced over his shoulder to see Fenris, watching with hungry eyes, taking in the board shoulders and slim waist.

He bent to pull off one boot, then the other, settling them as a pair under the chair, socks too. Then he straightened and took the end of the laces of his breeches between his thumb and finger, pulling gently to undo the knot.

It had been too long since had last performed in front of another, and he found it hard to summon the confident grin that would settle the mood. He settled for a shy smile that Fenris was obviously pleased with what he saw, the elf's green eyes fixed onto the fabric trousers still covering him. He let his breeches slip down his legs, and pushed his small past his thighs, letting gravity claim them.

He stepped from the clothes, and then stooped to gather them and places them on the chair, taking the chance to try and steady his breath. Elthina would undoubted be unimpressed that he was stood, nude, before another, but she did not understand the needs of a man. That, or she understood too well, and was exacting some terrible punishment for the death of the prophet Andraste at the hands of the males who had been responsible against all men. 

Well then, perhaps she might not be quite so disapproving of the situation, given the thin length of the cane on the table. 

Fenris picked it up. It looked odd, given the elf's affinity for much larger weapons, but no less fearsome, and he welded it with a smile.

"On the table." Fenris said, just a hint of breathlessness in his voice, "On your knees..." 

Sebastian was not graceful in getting onto the table. He had to hold the tremor from his limbs as he climbed up, and he was glad of his bowed head to hide the tight knot of apprehension gathered in his brow. Knees and hands sat heavily on the wooden surface, and he was aware of the pendulous swing of his cock between his legs. The heat from the fire was enough to make him feel warm enough without his clothes, but he was struggling to stay still. Part of him wanted to raise his vows like a shield and retreat from the scene, and not have to see what sort of man the caning would reveal. He could not prepare for what he could not predict, and that made him nervous. There were elements of his personality that clashed with the piety he sought, and he did not want to risk unleashing them and adding to his list of sins. 

And he was scared. He admitted it in the privacy of his own head, the idea of the cane striking against his flesh made him fearful. As an archer he had trained with the warriors, and he knew how to take a dagger and do serious damage, and so he was not a stranger to pain. He fancied he even had something of a tolerance, able to take a blow on the battlefield, retaliate with a boot and then still take aim with the bow. This was different, invited, pain not at the hands of an enemy but a friend. Much as he could place his trust in Fenris's hands, he could not dispel the anxiety as he waited for the first blow to fall. 

Fenris watched the prince try to find comfort in the position, stroking the edge of the cane up and down the curve of his buttocks, tapping occasionally. Sebastian bore the sensation, unsure of what to make of the feel of a line of wood ghosting over his skin, the little taps hardly seeming like anything, not pleasure nor pain. He did not realise Fenris was warming him to the notion, awakening his nerves and giving him the time to relax into the situation.

Fenris did not sigh when Sebastian's muscles remained tense, but continue the slow process of working the cane in a far more gentle capacity. The slight flick of his wrist invoked no reaction, the time seemed not to ease Sebastian's mind. When his patience reached its limit and sensing that no amount of stalling would make the first strike any easier, Fenris cut through the air with the cane.

Sebastian jumped, and knocked both knees against the table as the blow landed upon the top of his buttocks. Sharp, and stinging, and searing all thought from his mind till there was only the strip of red flesh. 

He could see the appeal, certainly. It was nice not to have his vows hanging over him like a hangman's noose, nor have the leisure of thinking about the repercussions. Just the pain, pure and simple. He braced for another impact, jaw clenched against the bite of the cane. It was like waiting for the battle to go wrong and feel the enemy swing sword or dig dagger against armoured flesh. It still hurt, even though the damage would be mostly dulled by the chain and platemail.

Another strike, and it was harder, and felt like it had breached his skin. There was intense heat as his body reacted, and he felt his bare behind flush which what he was sure would be a vivid red. It _stung_ , Maker it stung, and it reminded him of his time as a child, when his father would take a hand to his son to discipline him. It made him feel uncomfortable, as if he was being punished for something unspecified, conjuring shame and guilt with no explanation. 

He gave a soft cry, reedy as it came out from a clenched throat, as the third landed, his hips dipping downwards to escape the assault. He held up a hand to Fenris, shaking his head.

"Stop, no more."

The elf lowered the cane, and took on a look of horror that filled his face. Sebastian forced a smile through gritted teeth, and clambered off from the table.

"You needn't look so scared... I am fine.. I just think that this particular activity is not to my taste..." He looked down the lines of red across his rear, and gave them a ginger touch, feeling the burning flesh beneath his fingers and surprising himself of how much they still hurt.

"I... I'm sorry..... " Fenris's hand tightened on the cane, and he moved to the stand, where, under a blanket, was a selection of healing slaves. He held one out to Sebastian, his breathing rapid and uncomfortable.

Sebastian undid the lid and smeared some of the cream onto his fingers. He tried not to wince, but the coolness against the heat of the marks was too much, and he let out a brief hiss of air as he worked the slave into the skin. He was about to offer Fenris a fresh stream of reassurances, when he saw the elf watching his hand, the horror thankfully fading. There was _envy_ in his suitably green eyes, and suddenly Sebastian could see why Fenris was so adamant that he would find the caning enjoyable....

"Fenris... Tell me the name of the slave in your story...."

Fenris did not have to answer for Sebastian to know his question had hit its mark, surer than any arrow. It was Fenris who found pleasure in whipping, caning and Maker knew what else, and so the elf had assumed that Sebastian might also enjoy such things. In a way, he was glad of the misjudgement, for he was certain that Fenris would not be able to ask for a cane to be used on him directly, despite his claim that they could both talk about what gave them pleasure. His past still gripped his tongue, and he seemed almost embarrassed to ask for anything for himself. Didn't know _how_ to ask for his own pleasure, even though from the look of it, this was something he dearly desired. 

Sebastian held out his hand, palm up, and waited for Fenris to pass the cane over. 

He did, breathing heavy, and started to strip without waiting to be told to.

No matter how many times he saw the elf naked, lyrium scars that covered his body, lean and slender muscles and that look of indisputable strength, Sebastian thought he'd never tire of the way it made his blood start to pulse. Even though the sting of the cane had not affected his member, the sight of Fenris's, swelling nicely at the thought of what was to come, coaxed Sebastian's cock to follow suit.

Fenris turned away from Sebastian, and set both his forearms on the wood, the smooth curve of his body arched against the table, his feet planted shoulder width apart. Anders, for all his tactlessness, was right, Fenris did not have the look of a slave. Even in such a submissive position, Sebastian had no doubt they were equal partners in this, Fenris's eyes clear, and with just the hint of a challenge. He turned his head to see Sebastian holding the cane, swinging it experimentally and hearing how it sang as the tip curled. Satisfied he had a good idea of how much pressure to apply, at least to begin, he placed himself behind Fenris, and lifted his arm.

"Thank you." he breathed, as the first impact lashed against his backside.

Muscles flinched, twitching under the red line forming on the surface of the skin, and Fenris let out a low sigh. Swallowing, Sebastian beat down a second time.

He was measured, controlled, his arm strong from pulling bowstring, and though the cane sometimes swept down and landed in a place he did not anticipate, he tried to keep the blows from stacking one atop the other. The skin grew red, a ladder of lines that covered the entire curve of Fenris's rear. Sebastian turned to look, and saw Fenris with his mouth hanging open, raspy breaths out through his teeth, his eyes half closed. He leant into the table, rising up on his toes, and shivered right up the length of his spine.

"Fenris....?" softly, Sebastian lowered the cane, fearful he had struck too hard.

"More... Please. More."

The plea went straight to his groin, and thought he felt nervous about causing damage, he could see that Fenris was revelling in the repeated cane strikes. His flesh was flushed, and his erection looked so hard it too must hurt. The slow burn of his own backside was just starting to become bearable, and that was just from a few hits, he dared not think of the blaze that Fenris must feel.

Sebastian changed his stance, and gave a light slap against the small of Fenris's back, catching two of the thicker symmetrical lyrium swirls. Fenris shuddered in response, but from the sound the elf uttered, Sebastian was left in no doubt that Fenris would be devastated were he to halt the swing and snap of the cane. Again, he landed a blow, with slightly more force, and Fenris to look at him, sweat dotted across his forehead.

"... _Harder_." It wasn't a request, it was a demand, and though he had to steady himself at the thought of making those lines turn into raised welts, Sebastian knew he would comply.

_Snap!_

He paused to see the effect, Fenris's body heaving under the sharp kiss of cane. The colour seemed to drain from the line of impact, only to gather vividly a moment later. It bleached around the bone of the vertebrae, and Sebastian worried that if he had hit just a little bit harder, he might have broken skin. Like the lyrium had marked him, the line rose up, breaking the smooth plains of his skin. With just a moment's hesitation, Sebastian reached and touched the welt, amazed at the heat generated, and the way Fenris hissed low and needy for more.

He drew his hand back, unable to permit himself more than a brief touch to satisfy curiosity. He dearly wanted to be able to run a hand up Fenris's rear, and feel the heat and marks of the cane that he himself had laid into the flesh, but his vows definitely did not permit him to touch such an intimate place. The cane however, as an extension of himself, could.

He ran the end of the cane up from the crease between thigh and buttock, up towards the fresh wounds on Fenris's back, watching how the bones of Fenris's spine stretched under the skin to follow the blunt tip's progress. He looked over Fenris's body, and though he was unwilling to hit against the back again, for fear of damage he might accidentally cause, he could see plenty other places that would be sensitive enough to see to Fenris's need, without endangering him. 

The next swing of cane came down upon Fenris's thigh, tight and lean, and Fenris jolted with the surprise of it. He did not however, give a call for Sebastian to cease, instead rather he lowered himself down onto the full flat of his feet, and seemed to grip the ground with his toes. Sebastian fell easily into a rhythm, the practice of notching arrows and letting them fly too ingrained to ignore. 

He saw the movement as Fenris reached down to wrap a hand over his stiffened flesh, and the elf stroke himself in time with the blows. Sebastian did not increase his pace, even though Fenris had started to make small hissing grunts, pre-empting the swing of cane, as if urging him to speed up.

It was satisfying to see Fenris struggle to hold himself upright, his chest dragging in air, his cries steadily becoming louder and pitched high with need. The rosy curve of his rear dipped and rocked as he moved his hips, body trying to avoid that which his head craved. Fenris's hand gripped tight, and twisted fingers over his cock. The pain, Sebastian had noted, was slow to make itself known, that after the initial sting the sound was just given time enough to fade from the ear before the mark started to burn. He worked to keep the flow of sensation steady, sting followed by burn followed by sting. Briefly, Sebastian wondered that the caning had indeed revealed a darker side to himself that he had not anticipated, as he took great pleasure in casting the cane downwards so quick he could hear it cut through the air. He was putting more of his strength behind the cane, and drew his arm back to increase the distance the cane would whip before touching upon skin. The blow connected, and he saw Fenris give out a soft sigh and his head dip beside his forearm to rest on the table. Seed as white as lyrium dripped from him, his hand falling loose to his side. Breathing almost as heavily, Sebastian was greatly reassured to find his first concern was for Fenris, and not to continue past the elf's limits.

The cane held tight in his hand, Sebastian tentatively put the other upon the elf's shoulder, feeling the hammering heart and dampness of sweat under his palm. There was the slightest of twitch at the contact, and Sebastian lifted his hand, seeing the discomfort it caused. While Fenris collected himself, Sebastian took the opportunity to deal with his own hardness, his exertions making his blood pound. His hand had barely clasped round himself, when he felt his knees tremble and release take him. He gave a short groan as his fingers were coated, and looked up to see Fenris watching him. The elf pointed to a piles of clothes and cloths stored upon one of the cabinets at the side of the room, along with additional bottles of wine, and Sebastian's spare pair of breeches. The prince was just a little unsteady on his feet, and coloured with a definite blush, as he went to gather a pair of robes.

"I.. I think that will do." Fenris said with a grin, and allowed Sebastian to drape a robe over his shoulders. He pulled himself onto the table, his rear far too tender to bare the pressure of sitting just yet, and Sebastian put the cane down onto the floor. He lingered, unsure of what he was supposed to do next, then remembered the pot of salve. He handed it to Fenris, having to bite his tongue on the impulse to offer to apply the thick substance to Fenris's skin himself.

The elf seemed to understand, and smeared himself under the robe, wincing slightly as he brushed over the more painful of the marks, but also with a look of appreciation. When he was finished, he folded his hands under his head, and gave a soft laugh, though the humour did not touch his eyes.

"Strange that I can bare repeating beatings with a cane, but your touch upon my shoulder still causes me to jerk away...." He swallowed, then smiled with much more warmth at the archer. "But enough of that which Daranius has to answer for... Thank you, thank you for giving me what I could not ask for... "

"I feel like I should be thanking you. I have not had such a good workout in far too long..." 

Fenris's laughter was a relief, and Sebastian let his tension slip from him, joining Fenris in a blissful near-boneless state. He was glad too that Fenris did not seem hurt, at least, hurt more than he could take, and he was thankful that the darkness he'd worried he might harbour did not push him to disregard the elf. He remembered the exhilaration that came from battle, that even when the body had been beaten, there was a sense of lightheadedness, and amiable rush that followed. The way Fenris cast his head back, and let loose a gale of amusement, put him in mind of those weary but pleasant moments after the last sword had been lowered, when they were standing and their enemies not, almost delirious with victory.

**********

 

Thought it was tempting to remain in the happy haze of satisfaction hard earnt, Sebastian could not drive the thoughts of how red Fenris's skin had flushed. He straightened in his chair, and ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the loose strands his efforts had caused to fall around his forehead and ears. 

"Is the salve enough? Does it hurt?"

Fenris, eyes alight and smile coming easy to his face, gave an undecided shrug. "It does hurt. But in a good way." He licked his lips, struggling to find the words to explain, to reassure, "I would not have felt such peace now, if you had held back on your strikes. Like the massage, it is a release of sorts. Perhaps though, a little more unconventional."

Sebastian chuckled, rich and deep, "And somehow I do not think the healer Anders ought to be summoned. Although trying to explain might prove amusing."

Fenris did not exactly growl, but the noise was close enough Sebastian fell silent. He cursed himself silently, knowing that Anders sand Fenris often seemed that they might attack on another. When he chanced to look up, he saw just a glimmer of wickedness reflected in Fenris's green eyes.

"I don't know... might give the hapless fool something to hush him for more than a moment...."

"Hmmm... I think it might take a darkspawn in drag to accomplish such a feat."

Long into the night, they joked and remarked upon their companions, Sebastian revealing that Aveline had petitioned the high cleric Elthina for her blessings on a union between the guard captain and Donnic, and Fenris replied that he thought the match was good. They both made complaint of Isabella's ceaseless propositioning, and agreed that Hawke's mabari could use some lessons on not barking whilst out on night patrol and letting everyone know their location. Though, in fairness, most of those who prowled the dark streets tended to make themselves scarce when they heard the tell-tale howl of Narf-Narf, for where the mabari was, the Kirkwall champion was not far behind. So either through the n'do-wells moving out to safer cities to pillage, or that Hawke seemed happy to cut through swathes of scoundrels, crime in Kirkwall was on the decrease.

This seemed to suit everyone except Hawke, who thrived on the adrenaline rush of battle and the spoils of war. He was at his most happy, daggers deep in trouble, with a pile of bodies to loot when his foes were no more. Given the ferociously that he had dispatched the mercenaries that had murdered his family, Sebastian could not find it in himself to make comment on the champion's odd way of life. Fenris too, held a grudging respect for the man, after all he had done for a runaway slave. 

Fenris enquired about the freed slaves of the day, and seemed impressed that Sebastian was trying to match their skills with work available within the city. Refugees were unfortunately still mistrusted and underpaid, but there were few shopkeepers who would turn down a pair of experienced hands in return for the lowest of wages and the blessings of the chantry.

The fire petered out before their conversation did, and though he'd have been glad to continue, Sebastian knew he would regret not having any sleep later in the dawning day, when Elthina expected him to go out and allocate the ex-slaves to suitable work.

"Before I go, I wonder if you would be agreeable in building tolerance for touch?"

Fenris looked Sebastian over, and his lips drew into a line thin. "I thought your vows prevented such things..." He said softly.

"Ah... yes... I was actually thinking you might start to shake hands with those closest to you. Such as Hawke and his assortment of allies. It will be a challenge, I have no doubt, but I think it might help break through the barriers."

At first Sebastian was convinced Fenris would reject the idea, but those green eyes fixed on him, almost staring and quite intense, before the elf gave a short nod. Delighted, Sebastian arranged to meet at the Hanged Man the next evening, so he would be around to offer moral support. Once dressed, he headed back to the chantry to claim at least a few hours of sleep before morning prayer.

 

****

Sorting the freed slaves had been hard work, but rewarding. He'd completed so many circuits of the docks that the market vendors had started to cheer him as he walked by, and he took their jest in his stride as he managed to find work for at least half of the people in the chantry. The freed slaves had decided to collect their money together, and Sebastian wondered about enlisting Isabella's help to aid them in getting a fair price for the boat trip back home. That is, if the pirate did not combust upon stepping over the threshold of the chantry. 

He would ask her at the hanged man, and was looking forward to being able to see Hawke without the pressing matters of killing things to hinder conversation. He donned his armour and quiver full of arrows however, just in case Hawke had decided upon a spot of night-time adventure.

On arrival, he saw Hawke, Anders and Varric, with Narf-Narf lying at under the table. The champion and the dwarf were engaged in lively debate about whether there was a fortune to be made it selling guided tours around the abandoned thiag.

"Nobles will pay a fair penny for a chance to have something new to discuss over their extravagant parties, and we cleared most of the various aggressive elements out the last two times round." Hawke was declaring, much to Varric's and Anders's dismay.

"Hawke... Think about it, yeah you'd have a bunch of nobles paying you, but it means you'd have to put up with them. Following you around like a pack of lost sheep, inviting you to every ball and fancy-dance." Varric's eyes twinkled and he shot a glance at Anders, "Proposing marriage at every turn..."

Sebastian took a seat beside Varric, and the dwarf gave him a friendly wave, while trying to deter Hawke from his latest scheme. Hawke gave a sigh and conceded that indeed he had quite enough dealings with nobles as it was. Anders jumped suddenly, and made a face as Sebastian guessed Hawke's hand grasped at his knee. Hawke, smooth as polished glass, gave the archer a board smile, seemingly paying the flustered mage no mind.

"Hey there Vael, what brings your high and mighty self down to our level?"

"I thought I deserved a little break after a long day. You'll be pleased to know the slaves should be able to get themselves home by the end of the season."

"What slaves? Oh, right, the lot from yesterday. Jolly good, I'm sure the Maker will have a couple of extra shiny gold stars for yourself." 

Sebastian ignored Hawke, who as usual was not to be put off by the silent treatment. He waved for another round of drinks, save for Sebastian who had requested on past nights out to be left out, not having the stomach or nerve to take the hanged man's version of 'clean' water. As Edwina brought the beer, frothy over the tops of the wooden tankards, he quietly asked if he might also have one. 

"Choir boy, is that you actually chancing to have some fun for once? Edwina, stick it on my tab, to mark the occasion of our pristine prince falling from grace."

"Just the one." Sebastian said firmly, "But I do believe I have earned it." his voice was just cryptic enough to cause Varric to turn and give him a long and hard stare, as if he might be able to see into Sebastian's secrets with just a gaze alone. Sebastian, calm and refined, gave no sign of nervousness, nor clue as to his meaning. Varric was about to ask a question, innocent enough but prying never-the-less, when Isabella sauntered over, pointing out that if Hawke was buying drinks, she'd have a large rum.

Hawke relented, and then gave Anders a playful nudge. "What of yourself, will _he_ allow you a little tipple?"

The mage didn't reply, but after a brief pause, shook his head. Hawke might have pushed further, but his attention had been caught by Varric asking if Isabella had brought a clean set of cards.

"And what might you mean by that, oh you with the luscious chest?"

"Not much, only yours are all marked."

Hawke put a hand over his heart in mock horror. "Isabella, cheating? Well I never!"

It was a pity she could not keep from smirking at Hawke, because otherwise her face was a perfect blend of disbelieve and disgust at the suggestion. With the curl of lips, she just looked smug, and had to confess her trickery.

Varric gave a hearty laugh, and thumped the table. "I wish that I could say I am surprised at you.... Cheating is the lowest way to win a game."

"Only if you get caught..." She muttered, gladly taking the rum that was brought to her.

Sebastian's ale was dropped in front of him, and the smell took him back to long nights in taverns, drinking till walking became a challenge. He had marked more than a couple cards himself, and was about to suggest a better system (that of course, he'd be able to spot) to Isabella, who had sat herself beside him and was doing her best to lean into his hip, when Fenris walked in. 

"Fenris! Come on over, apparently Hawke is buying this eve!"

Hawke gave a half hearted glare at Isabella, and kicked out a seat for the elf. He walked over, after asking for a glass of wine, and stood by the chair. Fenris shuffled on his feet, then, somewhat reluctantly, held a hand out to Hawke.

"It's good to see you. Thank you for the drink." he said, mumbling over the words but lifting his head and making eye contact. Hawke took the hand gingerly, and looked at Fenris as if he might be possessed. Satisfied that his eyes were still green and clear, and that no tendrils of magic wisped around him, he grasped his hand and gave a firm shake, surprised but smiling.

Hoping to encourage the others, Sebastian held out his own hand. Fenris took it, without hesitation. Sebastian could not resist lingering with Fenris's hand held in his, and gave a slight squeeze before releasing. Heat exchanged between them, and Sebastian revealed in the secret they shared. Let Isabella watch, and make up what she thought were amusing explanations, her little stories would be pale and dull compared to the truth.

Fenris grasped Varric's hand, which the dwarf had held out, both pleased and curious. Varric closed his second stubby hand around Fenris's, warm and sure, then let go.

Isabella's handshake was delivered with a flick of the wrist, and Sebastian saw her rub her thumb over the captured hand, before Fenris gave a strained smile and pulled away.

Even Narf-Narf had emerged from under the table, and though Fenris did not try to stoop to shake with the mabari's paw, he patted the animal on the head affectionately. Narf-Narf gave a cheerful bark, and then settled back against Hawke's legs.

That left only Anders, and neither elf nor mage looked likely to initiate the gesture. Sebastian was about to prompt Fenris to carry on and include Anders when Hawke gave Anders a jolt with his elbow.

"Play nice." 

Anders let Fenris take his hand and shake, though his expression looked as if Fenris had dipped his hand in fishguts. Sebastian was delighted to see Fenris not crush the mage's hand, as he might have been tempted to. He gave Fenris a broad smile, and the unease seemed to ebb from the elf. Anders contented himself with glaring quietly at Hawke, who was obliviously chatting to Isabella about his tab and his limited generosity, and, not at all related, the sharpness of his daggers. 

There was no comment made about Fenris's sudden acceptance of being touched, and Sebastian felt immensely proud of the lyrium'd elf in rising to the challenge. As Fenris moved to settle himself, and join in with Hawke, Anders and Isabella on how they might be able to convince the hanged man to wave all tabs in return of the barrels of old trousers, bits of rope and bottles of moonshine Hawke hoarded in his mansion, Sebastian caught sight of Varric watching him. The dwarf had a knowing grin ,and he spoke in a warm but hushed voice.

"So..." the dwarf started. "What's your secret?"

Sebastian would have normally been able to keep the surprise from his face, but the bluntness of the question caught him out, and he immediately thought about his late-night meetings with Fenris. "I am not sure what you are talking about..." he said carefully, knowing that Varric was far too quick on the uptake to have missed such an obvious error.

"You somehow managed to get Broody to shake hands... with Anders... Without so much as a scowl. You must have been praying extra hard, else you've got some other mystical secret stuffed up your shiny sleeve."

"Ah... I simply mentioned that it would be good to establish a comradery between us.... " 

Sebastian and Varric both looked to the other side of the table, where Fenris was threatening to punch through Anders if the mage didn't desist with his insistent bickering, which had started up again. Hawke was not helping by suggesting he and Isabella could sell tickets to the ensuing brawl. 

"If you want comradery, I reckon you'd best start praying night and day... Maybe even sacrifice a goat or five..."

"Or light enough candles to risk setting the chantry alight...." 

Varric chuckled, and dank from his tankard, wiping the back of his mouth with a hand. "No wonder dwarfs keep beards, must help in mopping up the beer I reckon. Nevemind..."

He placed the tankard down with a click of wooden upon wood, and his face turned serious.  
"Listen, I know you've been helping Broody out. I keep tabs of him myself, plus, Rivani told me that you've been out chartering ships for his sister. Silly woman can't keep a her mouth shut for the sake of stroking my grand chest hair, but it all sounds like you got him a good deal." He gave an approving smile, and brushed his fingertips down his exposed chest, and it was hard to tell if he approved of his beard's prowess, or the deal that Isabella had helped broker.

"Now I know you'll go and deny it, but you yourself have been smiling more of late. And I don't think I've ever seen Broody so un-broody. It doesn't take a merchant's son to put two and two together...."

The archer said nothing, he'd not reveal more than Varric already knew, even though the dwarf was as sharp as any arrowhead. He would do well to remember that in future, but also that Varric did seem to genuinely care for his companions. 

"Ah. Well. No doubt you fret that I shall be put out by having to think up a new nickname for Broody, but actually, I think it's good for him, whatever you are up to."

"And what makes you think that if I am 'up to' anything, I'd be at all inclined to share the details with you?"

Varric gave a shrug and a smile, "It can be nice to have a willing ear. Think of me as your own private confessional booth, strictest confidence and all that. I'll not breathe a word of what you might chose to tell me."

Sebastian folded his arms and raised a brow, "I note you refrain from promising not to commit anything to ink and paper."

Varric gave a tsk, and snapped his fingers, "You got me." he admitted, though his wide grin was not the look of a dwarf defeated. They shared a slow look of understanding, that Sebastian would not divulge any more on the subject, and that the dwarf could be brilliantly cunning when he wanted to be. Their sudden lull in their conversation drew Hawke's attention, more used to his friends arguing constantly.

"All's well?" he enquired, causally as he was able, which had the whole table listening intently for the reply. Subtle, like a half brick in a sock, Hawke indeed was one of the oddest examples of a rogue Sebastian had ever come across.

Sebastian lifted his mug of beer, and tipped it slightly to the table, giving a bright smile. He caught Fenris's eye, just for a moment, and his smile spread wider.

"Never better." he said, and downed the remainder of the ale.


	6. Chapter 6

Fenris did not look happy at Isabella’s news that the ship carrying his sister had come into port. He moved stiffly, as if he had not slept in days, and Sebastian thanked Isabella for the news, then promptly shooed her unceremoniously out the door of Fenris’s mansion.

While not immediately grateful, Fenris did seem to relax slightly once the door had been shut on Isabella’s sarcastic comments of how she was only too glad to be of assistance. He paced by the fireplace, unlit, hand tightening and releasing upon the handle of his sword.

“What is wrong with me, that I cannot allow myself happiness? My sister, I have found my sister, yet all I can think of is how easy it would be for Danaruis to have laid a trap.”

“Your sister would not betray you, surely?”

“I cannot know! I have no memory of her, save for fleeting references Danarius made. And those I do not trust.”

Sebastian drew a deep breath, and moved to place himself in way of Fenris’s path, causing the elf to stop in his tracks.

“We’ll contact Hawke, have him around, just in case. However, I don’t think your sister would have risked crossing the ocean just to betray you.”

Fenris blinked, and gave a nod. “Yes.. Of course you are right…. Perhaps.. perhaps I am just nervous. I am not the most social of people. What if I offend her?”

“A little touch of nerves is to be expected, but remember that you are gaining family. Family members have an uncanny knack of knowing you better than you know yourself. For the chance to meet your sister, it is worth any risk. Anyway, I’m sure she is just as keen to meet yourself as you her.”

Fenris gave a smile, and they went out to locate Hawke, before heading to the Hanged Man.

***

Fenris’s worst fears were realised when he found that Danaruis was waiting for them. Sebastian's heart sank as Fenris’s sister scurried out of the way, and Fenris was faced with his old master, and his sister’s treachery in the same breath. Danaruis, cruel and cunning, did not pay heed to the elf, instead directing his questions to Hawke, and asking for his property back. 

And Hawke, Maker-take-him, hesitated.

Perhaps it was being faced with so many enemies in such an enclosed space, or the fact that there were so many innocents that risked being caught in the crossfire. It might have been Anders’s low whisper of “Worth considering…” that kept him from outright refusing the magister, and caused a thick silence to fall over the hanged man.

He saw Fenris watch the proceedings, detached, and saw the way his shoulders started to slump as Hawke gave no immediate order to attack. There was no fight in his eyes, and he looked ready to bow his head in defeat. It made Sebastian’s heart clench to see the proud elf brought so low.

The noise of his bowstring being pulled taut drew both Hawke and Danarius’s attention, the creak of wood unmistakable. Sebastian’s notched arrow was aimed squarely at Danaruis, though Hawke, standing in front, would not be able to miss the fact that it would only take the smallest twitch to the side to include him in the archer’s sights. Sebastian knew his face was twisted in anger, and noted that Hawke paled slightly as he let loose his arrow, starting the fight that Hawke should have long before Fenris had been given chance to doubt.

Denarius gave a roar, as the arrow caught on his shoulder as he tried to duck from its path. Red tendrils of magic crept from the impact site, and he bellowed for his guards to protect him. Fenris had his sword firmly in hand, and a step behind was Hawke, daggers out, finally acting as a champion should. Even Anders raised his staff up, magic flaring across the wood, filling the room with fire.

The battle was hard won, Varric’s excellent timing turning the tide at just the right moment as he came thundering in, guiding those panicked patrons out the door as he rained bolts down upon the shades that had surrounded Fenris and were making advances towards Sebastian. Once the magister had fallen, the demons despaired, shrinking back to the realms of the fade. The prince was pleased to see Danaruis sporting two feathers tufts from his shoulder, as Fenris stepped forwards, and claimed his freedom.

Hand bloodied, he turned to see where his sister had pressed herself against a wall, arms over her face and fearfully looking to her brother.

He was about to murder his own flesh and blood when Sebastian caught his arm. He flared bright blue, and Varania fell to her knees as Fenris spun to strike Sebastian. Fenris stayed his hand, but the clawed gauntlet hovered too close to the archer’s face, and he had to blink in reaction. Seeing the fear in Sebastian’s face caused Fenris to flinch, the metal hand falling heavily to his side. Breathing rapid, expression tight and unreadable, Fenris mouthed ‘sorry’ before sidestepping past Sebastian to get out of the Hanged Man.

Hawke, so used to being the one to patch up problems, was about to follow, when Sebastian grabbed the champion by the hard ridge of metal along his shoulder and turned him to face the prince forcefully.

“No. You have done quite enough Hawke.”

He would have said more, demanded answer as to what on Thedas Hawke had been thinking when he paused, appearing to actually contemplate Danarius’s offer of coin for Fenris, but he was too aware that Fenris had a head start, and if he wanted to catch the elf he had to move fast and immediately. As he left the hanged man, he heard Varric speak to Hawke, explaining that Sebastian had matters in hand, but questioning just what had got choir-boy’s panties in such a bunch.

He did not stop to hear Hawke’s reply.

 

***  
The door to the mansion was open, as if Fenris expected him. He entered quietly, and locked the door behind him. He found Fenris, hunched in a chair, his sword thrown to the ground by his feet. There was a selection of wine bottles on the table beside him, upright and standing vigil over the figure curled so tightly into himself. He’d not washed his hands from the blood of Daranius’s chest, and held them clasped together so firm the knuckles were pale, with rust-coloured streaks across both fingers.

Sebastian held his tongue, and waited for Fenris to speak first. The silence seemed to fill the room, like the air before a storm, heavy, and oppressive. Sebastian did not bow under its pressure, and kept his back straight, his hands open and relaxed, and his face as calm as he could. In order to receive confession, he knew one had to look as non-judgemental as possible, and invite the words that sometimes did not want to be spoken. 

Fenris moved a hand from where it was clutched, and grasped the nearest wine bottle by the neck. Sebastian tensed, his feet ready to move, as he saw the grip was entirely wrong for pouring. He managed not to flinch as Fenris arched his arm back, then threw the bottle at the far away wall. The bottle exploded in a shower of shards and russet liquid, joining another similar wine stain next to it. Fenris looked back to Sebastian, challenging, his eyes demanding reaction from the archer.

It was one of the hardest things he’d had to do, to keep his stance, and not stride over to Fenris and try to forcefully shake him out of whatever mood had gripped him. To believe that it was not what Fenris needed, that to try and intercede would only repress the fury and pain further, perhaps beyond reach. The elf carried so much already, but Sebastian knew there had to be a limit to Fenris’s inner strength.

When it was clear Sebastian would neither retreat, nor try to prevent him from venting, Fenris seemed to lose the hunch of his shoulders, and he tipped his head to the side.

“Will you have a glass of wine with me?” His voice was too calm, too flat, and Sebastian knew that the outburst was far from over. There was turmoil in his eyes, despite the tone of his voice, and his body was stiff, as if ready for attack. If it had been Anders or Hawke that had worn such rage, barely held in check behind their eyes, Sebastian might have withdrawn, fearing for his safety, but with Fenris, he could place the elf’s wellbeing over his own, and could not bring himself to leave the elf. That Fenris seemed to want him to join him though, was encouraging, and he carefully took a step forwards, letting the surprise show on his face.

Fenris unfolded himself, and carefully uncorked a bottle of red wine from his collection, and poured two full glasses. He presented one to the prince, and then drank deeply from his own glass, hardly taking time to savour the liquid.

Sebastian swirled his wine uncertainly, and raised a brow to Fenris, “Do you.. wish to talk…?”

“No.” Fenris paused, briefly, then spoke again in a softer voice, “No… I wish to drink wine, and _celebrate_ my freedom.”

The hiss of the word celebrate gave clue as to why Fenris seemed so distraught. When no further comment was made, Sebastian felt he had a right to ask if he was even wanted, as Fenris poured himself a second glass. He would not, could not, stand idly by and watch Fenris drink himself into a stupor. 

“I can leave you to consume more wine than is good for you, or you can at least try to moderate yourself. Do you want me to go?”

Fenris offered a sad smile, and shook his head, “No… though I doubt I shall be a very able host this night.”

“Understandable.”

That silence again, thickly warning off any attempt to speak and try to bring Fenris from whatever ruminating thoughts filled his head and causing his eyes to be so narrow, his jaw clenched till it looked like his teeth might shatter under the strain.

Even in death, Danarius held Fenris by the throat.

Part of the art of coaxing confession from someone, rather than just a recital of what they thought they ought to say, was more than just minding mannerisms and being as approachable as possible. His position in the chantry helped with that, usually, and he had eased the heart of many who had come to the chantry, seeking absolution for past misdeeds that had haunted them for years, but not brave enough to venture into the confines of a confessional booth. He had taken many informal admissions of guilt, often trifling things such as a stolen coin or selfish act, and reassured them of the Maker’s mercy and forgiveness. They would leave lighter, happier, and no longer fearing that they were beyond the Maker’s light. There was an element of distance required between Sebastian and those who approached him however, so that a guilt-stricken housewife might speak of things she could never discuss with her peers. 

He could not hold the distance between himself and Fenris, they had grown too close. He had allowed the elf to see him, flaws and thoughts and vices and real, an actual person, rather than a representative of the chantry. Fenris was asking _him_ to stay, and much as Sebastian wanted to fall back to the safety of quoting verse and scripture in response to his friend’s pain, he felt that Fenris at this moment, would not react well to the wisdom of the chant of light.

So he did the only thing he could think of to reach past the silence, past Fenris’s anger and past the ‘choir boy’ persona he had created to allow him to keep distance and some level of purity. He took a step forwards, placed the glass of wine down on the table and reached his arms round, and embraced Fenris awkwardly as the elf sat in the chair.

He’d been ready for the flare of blue lyrium, but not for the way it seemed to make Fenris hard to hold, almost if he was slipping from his arms, like a memory of the fade. The sudden growl and gnash of teeth also jarred him, and he released before he could command his hands to remain in place. 

Sebastian stood, apologetic for his reaction, and sorry that he had invoked such response. Fenris, shoulders high and brow furrowed low, cursed in Arcanum. He swallowed, and set his glass upon the small table as well, knuckles pushing the remaining wine bottles aside to make room.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” He hissed, glaring at the floor, avoiding Sebastian’s eyes. “I had hoped… that with Danarius dead, I might finally be able to be touched without responding as if I were being attacked….. but no, I will still fight against contact against my skin. it is the same as when you prevented me from hurting Varania, that you stopped me from plunging hand into her chest was probably was for the best, but I raised my hand to strike at you, nearly clawed your eye out… you of all people…. It just shows, I am too dangerous. Nothing more than a living weapon….” Fenris lowered his eyes, and his voice, and his shoulders, again giving the impression that somehow, he was fading away, even though he was right there, so close Sebastian could reach out and touch him if he was not so scared that the pressure of his hand upon Fenris’s spikey armour might cause the elf to lash out. “You’d be better off keeping yourself out of my range.”

Had he not already made the decision to cross the line of boundaries and forgo the distance that separated acquaintances from friends, Sebastian still would not have considered turning on his heel and leaving Fenris to his misery, no matter how much easier it would make keeping to his vows. He’d come too far, seen too much of the elf and his inner pains, and strengths. He set his stance further apart, both of them too well trained in battle to miss the meaning- _I am not going anywhere._

Fenris seemed to relax, as if he had been expecting Sebastian to leave and was surprised and pleased to see the prince stay. Sebastian could forgive his lack of faith, given the events of the day, where he had been betrayed by his sister, and then, if only for a moment, Hawke. It made the archer all the more resolute to prove to Fenris that it was safe to place trust in another, in him.

“You are a good friend.” Fenris said, finally, softly, almost sadly. Sebastian raised an eyebrow to question the tone, and Fenris twisted his head to avoid meeting blue eyes with green. He looked to the wine bottles, as if longing to drink away his grief.

“I have enjoyed our nights together… Truly I have.. but I think we should… stop.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?” Sebastian fought to keep the panic from his voice, fought to keep the part of him that recognised the danger of running so close to the limits of his vows and knew the safest path to take would be to agree. 

It might be for the best, they could keep their friendship, and Fenris would not have to feel like a bird with a broken wing that he couldn’t touch. By removing himself for the close proximity would surely help ease the elf’s frustrations, retaining the bond they have built, and his own purity.

It wasn’t what he wanted though, and he was certain that it was not what Fenris wanted either.

“Do not think I am not grateful for all your attempts to ‘cure’ me, but it is a pointless endeavour. I am just too much broken, and you deserve someone less likely to attack you for your help.”

“Bullshit.”

The word caused them both to start, and Sebastian privately wondered if he had not spent too much time with Varric and Hawke that such vulgarity could sound out in his voice. He collected himself, and drew up to his full height, proud bearing and sure.

“You have come far, even if you do not see it. You have been able to shake hands, and I have seen Hawke pat you on the back after battle without incident. There is progress, so don’t you dare try to give up now.” Sebastian took a breath, “There is fear there, but it is not the touch that you are afraid of. What is it, that has you so ready to disregard everything we have achieved together?”

Fenris looked at Sebastian, his toes curled into the stone floor, “I wonder when you will grow weary of my limitations.”

Sebastian laughed, not an unkind sound, and opened his hands out to place against his own chest. “And my own being so few?”

There was a hint of a smile, and it was enough to calm the brewing storm, the air seeming lighter, clearer. 

“Your vows do not bother me,” Fenris was making more eye contact, and looking at the wine less, “In fact, I suspect I would not have courage to continue with _this_ if you had not assured me that touch was frowned upon and to be avoided. It sounded like an ideal for me….”

“Ha, you are right. I think that the Maker must have had a hand in bringing us together. We fit well, you and I.” Sebastian was nodding, but saw that Fenris had lost his humour. He seemed to steel himself, then stare at Sebastian, again, expected to be let down, betrayed and rejected.

“If it weren’t for your vows... you would still want me?”

The truth of it was that Sebastian had been thinking of little else since their first intimate encounter in the chantry courtyard. That he had been searching his mind looking for a way to be able to take Fenris freely, without breaking that which he had sworn to. He’d been lying to himself when he said he was operating within bounds of his vows, but his own desire had built a convincing argument, working to the letter rather than the meaning of his oaths. 

Normally, to protect himself, he would have said yes, and then voiced regret that his vows were still in place, preventing him from acting. Tonight though, that would not suffice, Fenris was too fragile, had seen too much trust break. Any words he spoke would just be words, unless he could force them to _show_ Fenris the intent behind them. To prove that he wanted Fenris, needed him.

Sebastian drew a breath, that shook in his lungs, and spoke to Fenris.

“Yes, Maker yes. It there were no vows, and that touch did not cause you such distress…. Oh… the things I would want to do to you…” he stopped, waiting to see Fenris’s reaction. 

Fenris swallowed, hard, “Tell me.” He said.

His mouth felt dry as he thought of his vows, and whether his own self-restraint would allow him to keep himself to just words.

In the end, it was Fenris, his eyes, his expression, everything saying ‘please’ but his lips, that swayed the archer.

He turned and sat down, made his body relax into the chair, hoping that Fenris would not be able to see the way he had to force himself to begin.

“If I could…. First, I’d.. I’d want to cup the back of your head, feel your hair over my knuckles. Thumb the nape of your neck. Feel the heat of your skin.” 

He stopped to check that Fenris was not disgusted with his words, and was pleased to see that Fenris had closed his eyes, and was letting the chair take his weight, rather than perching on it as if he might bolt at any moment. He decided that was definitely the better angle to take, and shut his lids too, the darkness warm, like a shroud to hide him as he continued.

“I’d guide your head back, not forcing, never forcing, and I’d let our lips touch together. Softly, pressing your bottom lip between my own, letting you feel the heat of my mouth, sharing air between us, coaxing you to open for me. Oh but you would be so warm, and wet…”

“Willing.” Fenris added, his voice little more than a whisper into the air. Sebastian was grateful that there was no fire lit, no crackling flame and burning wood to mask the way he could hear Fenris breathe, shallow, rapid, through open mouth. The sound gave him confidence that this was indeed what Fenris wanted, perhaps even needed, and he let the dread feeling of unease slip away as he imagined the scene before him.

“The first touch of tongue would be little more than a flick against your lip, followed by ma mouth against yours. The _heat_ …” he could hear his voice, hear his accent start to bleed through, long vowels, slight roll to the ‘r’, a soft warm tone settling over his words. That made it easier somehow, that is wasn’t the prince of Starkhaven saying such things. The things he wanted to whispered into the dark, knowing that Fenris would hear, were not things a prince ought to utter… they weren’t things a prince was even supposed to _think_ , let alone desire.

Tonight though, Fenris did not have need of royalty, and Sebastian felt that he could put aside his crown in order to be what the elf required. Just Sebastian, no titles, no birthright and no chantry colours, just him, and his voice. No more, no less.

“Ah would lean ever so slightly, let the weight of ma hand and head surround you. Then, I would press ma tongue into your mouth, deep, tastin’ you. Slidin’ against yours, till you were near breathless….”

He did not need his eyes to gauge Fenris’s response, the low half-moan echoed in the space between them. The sound seeped into him, tingling down his spine, and he shifted to make sure his trousers were loose around his groin. It would not be long, not with the noises Fenris was making, before such things would become an issue.

“Ah’d be running out of air too, light-headed. Maker, but Ah have missed kissin’… Missed the slip and slide of tongues against one ‘nother, missed the taste… An’ Ah bet you’d taste _good_ , if I were to nibble down your chin, all wine an’ sweat an’ lyrium… Would it tingle? Bet it would, tingle against tongue, against teeth… Like running your fingertips up a newly forged magic blade… that buzz of energy barely contained…”

This time he did take a quick glance to see that the sound of leather against chair was not Fenris getting up to leave in disgust. He saw that the elf had instead started to undo the buckles of his breeches, and Sebastian smiled to himself at the sight, closing his eyes and letting his head rest back against the chair.

“Yer hand next Ah think, Ah’d bring it to my lips…”

Fenris gave a grunt, “You think me so delicate as to kiss my hand like a lady….” There was stress in his voice, more like to be frustration that Sebastian was talking about his hand, rather than moving on focus on the hardness between his legs. 

Sebastian’s chuckle was deep, and just a little mischievous, “Nothin’ so chaste. Yer a warrior, through and through, and hardened to hold sword and take blows without complaint… but Ah could find skin that would sing under touch, under a fingernail, under teeth….. Spots yeh never knew yeh had, that would surprise yeh, excite yeh…. Suckin’ upon a fingertip, running the flat of ma tongue over the whirl, pressing teeth against the bone….”

There was silence, and Sebastian pursed his lips. He wanted to show Fenris that there was no need to hurry, that pleasure could be found in the most unlikely places of the body… 

Finally, he ground out words that sounded more like an order than suggestion; “Do it. Imagine it’s me.”

The soft wet noise of Fenris carefully sucking upon his own finger, with the accompanying sound of surprise at the sensation, made Sebastian smirk.

“There, see now… feel the way yer nerves grow sensitised? The way that every little lick and nibble stacks, so that even yer breath upon the skin is enough to bring yeh out in shivers? Now… imagine what that would feel like round your cock.”

“Uh!” 

Chair legs scrapped against stone floor as Fenris jolted in his seat, and Sebastian had to will himself not to glance over and see if his mental image of Fenris arching from the wooden frame was accurate. To see would only move him to want to touch, and he was not sure if he could resist the temptation of Fenris, flushed and moved to such state by his words. The pressure of keeping his eyes squeezed shut helped him to ignore that fact that he was hard, and nearly at the point of leaking.

“Maker, what yeh do ta me….” He could hardly recognise his voice, thick and warm, as if coated in honey. “Yeh make the sweetest sounds when yeh are enjoyin’ yerself. Ah’d want to hear more, have them fill my ears as Ah dipped maself down between yer legs, and ran ma tongue up yer length. A hand to steady against yer thigh, fingernails digging in as Ah took ma time in tastin’ yeh. Lickin’ lines up and doon, tip o’ the tongue flickin’ against the curve and ridge of skin.”

Breathing had become difficult, as if he had a stone upon his chest, and Sebastian pulled at the neck of his armour to allow him air without the heavy plate pressed against his collar. In the quiet space as he adjusted his armour, he could not have missed Fenris’s quiet voice, also breathless, as if the air was too thin;  
“Keep going.”

“Ooh, Ah have nae intention of stoppin’. Not till yeh are writhin’, till yeh are so close yeh will hardly be able tae speak. Little licks, and ma mouth upon yeh, kissin’, _suckin’_. Ah’d want to have yeh in ma mouth, fillin’ it, heavy and hard. Yeh could go deep, Ah’d not mind. Ah would want it, want to feel yer pulse through your dick, feel it on ma tongue. Taste the salt of yeh.”  
“It’d be hard to draw breath, ma mouth stuffed with yer length, yeh’d be able to feel ma lips shudder around yeh, ma mouth so hot it’d feel like yeh were meltin’.”

Sebastian heard the sound of hand upon flesh, and the rhythmic tap of wrist against groin. He had to swallow hard, then set about pulling his own hardness out from his breeches.

“Just the thought of how yeh’d taste has me achin’ Fenris… and Ah bet yeh’re hard tae, that gorgeous cock of yers dark and full and _throbbin’_. Yeh would be close, when ah pulled ma mouth away, and blew cool air across the wetness of your length.”  
“But Ah am not done yet. Ah’d get us to a bed, big enough for two, and take the massage oil ta hand. Yeh would be panting, needy, and ah would make you watch as Ah first oiled ma fingers, then dribbled the oil ontae _yer_ cock.”

Fenris spluttered, taken by surprise. Sebastian smiled, keeping his eyes closed; “Yeh don’t think ma debauched ways were all that had ma father in such a rage? Frequentin’ sae many brothels wasn’t sae bad, almost boost-worthy, if it weren’t for ma choice of whore. Ah would bed man and woman alike, and not always be on top… The idea of his son, his own blood, bending o’er willingly for another _man_ did not sit well with him…. Rest assured, there would be times Ah would have yeh down and have yeh hard, but this time, Ah am o’ more a mood tae have yeh fill me.”

“I… I don’t know…” Uncertainty, brought on from surprise at this revelation, filled Fenris’s voice. It had happened before to Sebastian, too many of his past partners assuming that a prince would not permit himself to experience both sides of sex, and Sebastian cursed himself for not broaching the subject more delicately. He should have opened his eyes, called a stop to their current game, but he was too engrossed in the way he could pick out the sounds of Fenris touching himself to his own words, the way he could almost pretend he was doing the things he said… He could not bring himself to stop.

“Imagine it Fenris… it’s been an age, Ah would be tight, sae very tight. And Ah would be beggin’ yeh, desperate for yeh to plunge in. For yeh to fuck me.”

The slow sound of Fenris resuming rubbing himself reassured Sebastian, and he allowed himself to sink down into the chair, his own length unattended and fit to burst.

“Even wi’ the oil, it’d _burn_ , oh sae wonderfully, heat like Antivian sunshine, fillin’ me. Ma hole, sae fuckin’ eager… eager for yeh, eager for yer cock. Eager for the stretch and burn and heat, knowin’ it was yerself in me.” 

Sebastian could feel the tension gather in his gut, the almost-shiver of sensation, and revelled in it. Inelegant as his words were, coarse and raw, they were more truth than he usually allowed himself. There was freedom in being able to speak with his guard down, and it was almost as good as the real thing. Almost.

“Ah’d want you tae go slow, slow an’ deep. Ah’d want tae feel every inch of yeh, feel the way yeh filled me, the way yeh felt _inside_ me.”

The noise the elf made in response was almost a growl, and Sebastian’s member jerked at the thought of Fenris making such a sound, low and rumbling, directly into his ear as they pressed their bodies together. His resolve was starting to fray, losing sight of why his vows were so important. He gripped against the wooden arms of the chair, and decided the best course of action would be to bring Fenris to his limit, before he reached his.

“Ah would not last long, not wi’ yeh pushed deep intae maself. And Ah would _clench_ , engulf yeh in me. Encourage yeh to pound ma ass, drive deeper an’ harder. Sae hot, sae tight… all yers for the takin’.”

Fenris hissed as he ejaculated, and Sebastian could hear the wet sound of seed fall to the floor. He breathed relief, and let himself follow suit, the danger of breaking his oath passed, but not forgotten.

He got to his feet, and brought one of the spare robes over to cover Fenris. The elf didn’t say anything, and had slumped sleepily, body and mind worn out from the day, but at least at peace for the evening. He didn’t even flinch as Sebastian’s hand, made clumsy through his own tiredness, brushed against his shoulder as he draped the robe over so the elf would not catch a chill.

Sebastian whispered that he would see himself out, but Fenris already appeared to be sleeping, a soft smile upon his face, and the tension drained from his body.

The archer looked down at himself, and made a vague effort to clean himself, his own lips drawn into a thin line. His vows had never before felt constricting, but now seemed like they might crush the fragile happiness he had claimed for himself. He couldn’t go on, could not keep putting himself under such temptation. As near-to-perfect as these encounters were, they brought with them too much guilt, too much turmoil in his head.

He wasn’t ready to give up these evenings, but at the same time, knew that he was indulging in what he had sworn against. Though he had indeed brought Fenris out of his sore mood, and granted him the release he required, Sebastian could not help but feel he’d been serving his own needs, to voice what he had been contemplating in the privacy of his own head, forcing his depraved words upon Fenris when he was most vulnerable.

The next time, he decided, would be entirely for Fenris, an evening devoted to the elf, rather than his own needs and lust, that it might serve as a balm for his guilty conscience.

*******

The next afternoon, when Fenris and Sebastian were recovering from an encounter with a group of Carta thugs, Hawke had delivered a small crate of wine to Fenris by means of an apology for the day before. Fenris had politely refrained from mentioning that his own wine collection was far superior to the bottles Hawke had produced, and Sebastian had taken pains not to point out that mere alcohol was poor recompense for contemplating selling his friend back into slavery.

Then, the following day, before Sebastian had time to make good on his promise to himself to spend a night dedicated to serving Fenris’s desires, Hawke had taken it into his head to pick a fight with a high dragon. The battle had been gruelling, and had left the archer with a wonderful story to tell, and a set of painful claw marks across his side from when the beast had landed beside the archer and taken a swipe before he got a chance to back away. He'd spent the following couple of days in Anders's clinic, doped to the eyeballs with elfroot.

When he got out, he was mostly mended, and had been pleased to see that the garden in the chantry had not suffered in his absence. He took time to sit in amongst the plants, breathing deep to try and clear the stale air of Darktown from his lungs. The high cleric Elthina rounded the corner, and with her normal calm grace, took a seat beside him. 

Elthina did not seem surprised at Sebastian’s state or his absence over the last few days, and he found out that between running messages for Hawke, Fenris had been keeping her posted of his progress. He'd also brought Sebastian’s armour and bow and quiver to his room, not wanting to risk them going 'missing' in the depths of Darktown while he recovered. 

“I must remember to _thank_ him.” Sebastian muttered, more to himself, but Elthina raised an eyebrow at the stress on the word ‘thank’ but said nothing. Instead, she straightened her robes, and gave a warm smile.

“Till you feel able, I shall excuse you from your normal duties. Sister Dalphine has been tending the gardens, and as you can see, she is doing a fine job. Take the time to recover, and thank the Maker for your continued good health. It was surely His blessing that allowed you to survive a battle with a dragon.”

“High dragon.” He corrected.

“Hmm.” The noise was not one of pride, nor awe at his achievement.

Elthina had before argued about the wisdom in following Hawke, who seemed able to find trouble wherever he travelled. Sebastian had stated he owed Hawke a debt that he fully intended to repay, for the justice the rogue had delivered to his family’s murderers. Elthina had reluctantly come to terms that no matter what next venture Hawke decided to tackle, Sebastian would be there, risking himself too.

“You must find watering the gardens rather dull in comparison to chasing out the scoundrels of the city and felling the foul beasts of the lands. I wonder if you would not be happier outside the chantry… You could return to Starkhaven, as is your birth right, and see safety brought to your own streets.” she said, softly, almost sadly. Sebastian was surprised, Elthina was generally a happy soul, and rarely brought up Sebastian’s family, all those in the chantry equal, whether prince or beggar.

“I serve the maker.” He said, carefully, treading cautiously around Elthina’s words. “I have my vows, and am content. Surely it is not against them to aid Hawke on occasion, and you cannot deny he has done great good for Kirkwall.”

Elthina gave a heavy sigh.

“Sebastian, do not think I have not seen that you have been distracted these last weeks. It is perhaps time for you to consider that you cannot live your whole life in debt. Sooner or later, you will have earned your freedom, and you must decide what you wish to do once you no longer need to feel bound by vows and pledges.”

It was a double-edged statement, and Sebastian had no doubt it was worded that way on purpose. Both he and Elthina knew he came to the chantry to atone for his past misdeeds, but in the last years he had helped a great many people, and poured most of the coin he’d gained from helping Hawke into the coffers of the chantry. Such dedication was more than Elthina had ever asked, and after the first year, he’d felt at peace, cleansed. 

But it was not Hawke, as Elthina thought, that drew him away from the chantry, it was Fenris. Fenris, with those deep green eyes, and smooth lyrium’d skin. 

The high cleric watched Sebastian’s face, and gave a little nod that he was deliberating over her words and rose from her seat, “Think on what I have said, Sebastian.”

As Elthina walked away, with quiet, tiny footsteps, Sebastian let out a great heave of air, noting how even now it still pained his lungs to do so. 

It hurt to have his faith questioned in such a way. Worse, he knew he was deserving of scrutiny.

If he was to keep his vows, properly, and attend the chantry as he should, then he would have to give up his sessions with Fenris. They were too much a temptation, too much distracting from his cause. They made it hard to think straight, hard to give true thanks to the Maker. He knew his choices should be between the chantry and Starkhaven, but more and more he found that all he wanted was Fenris. Such want was selfish beyond measure when he considered the seriousness of dedicating one’s life to the Maker, or taking on a crown, and his bloodline did not allow for such indulgences.

He stood, and bowed his head. He would give Fenris one more night, then, he would put a stop to these sinful, wonderful evenings.


	7. Chapter 7

Sebastian had hoped to spend the day in prayer, readying himself for the night ahead. He was not looking forward to telling Fenris that for sake of his vows, he would have to stop his visits. He felt sick to his gut at the thought of what Fenris’s reaction would be, and was torn about when he would tell the elf. He still planned to give Fenris a last night of pleasure, but could not decide if he would soften the blow, or make it all the more painful to state his intent before or after bringing Fenris to release. His usual chores around the chantry were taken care of by others, given his recent encounter with the sharp end of a high dragon, and he had thought that by the end of the day, he might have the words that would cause as little hurt to Fenris as possible.  
But, as usual, Hawke was there to complicate things.  
“’Lo Sebastian, I have need of your arrows if you are able. Varric is nursing a hangover, and Isabella is off chasing the idiot that bested her at cards last night. Whether to kiss him or kill him, I could not guess. Anders tells me that you ought to be well enough to boost our numbers, care for a little adventure?”  
Only Hawke would approach someone bare days after a high dragon had dug out a chuck of flesh from their chest, and try to enlist their help on another of his stupidly brave ventures. Had it not been for Fenris, trailing after Hawke and Anders as they climbed the chantry steps, and looking at Sebastian as if he were made of glass, Sebastian would have held a hand against his healed scars, given an apologetic shake of the head and sent Hawke on whatever mischief he had planned without him. However, that would suggest to Fenris that he was still in process of recovery, and unable to see him yet. To reassure Fenris, Sebastian gave a nod and went to fetch his bow and quiver.  
Hawke’s mabari, Narf-Narf was urinating on the chantry board by the time Sebastian joined them, and he shot Hawke an accusatory look, knowing that it was not beyond the rogue to suggest the spot for his dog. Hawke only laughed, and started to lead his gathered group of swords and staffs and bows onwards.  
Then of course, Anders fell into step beside him, checking in on the ‘patient’, and unintentionally excluding Fenris from being able to come near and speak with Sebastian. This irked the archer, but try as he might, Anders would not be dissuaded from a seemingly endless barrage of questions;  
“Does it cause you pain still?”  
“It did for the first day or two, but seems fine now. I have had the bow out in the courtyard, and it seems not to have affected my form.”  
“Did you actually take the day of rest I recommended?”  
“Elthina insisted upon it. I have been on lighter duties, despite my protests. Maker knows we are busier than ever, and I am healed and able. I would much rather be helping out, but as Elthina has deemed me weak as a kitten, I might as well come out with you and Hawke and do battle with whatever it is that stands in our way this day.”  
That wasn’t quite true, but Sebastian did not care to mention that Elthina had granted him time from his duties, that he might contemplate whether he wished to stay with the chantry or not.  
The mage gave a half-shrug, “It’s safe... or should be. We are just gathering some components for a potion.” An emotion Sebastian could not quite place crossed Anders’s face, and he quirked his head towards Sebastian. “Busy you say?”  
“Given that we are housing a mass of freed slaves in the dorms, and that the city seems to be of a mood to embrace its faith, the chantry is nearly full to capacity. I have seen that on a good evening, with no rain to put people off, there are more people than pews. It is very busy… but heartening.”  
Anders did not mirror Sebastian’s smile at the comment, and looked uncomfortable. Sebastian had rather hoped this meant he would be given a chance to speak with Fenris, who he had not seen since receiving his injury, but as they turned down a set of steps in Darktown, which creaked under the weight of the men, Hawke called a stop.  
“This the place?” His voice was strong and carried with a resounding echo, and any chance they might have had of sneaking in to collect whatever it was they were after without alerting every single lowlife vanished. As if to compliment his master, Narf-Narf barked at the hatchway, which smelled distinctly unpleasant.  
Anders gave a nod.  
“A sewer. You want us to go into the sewers of Darktown?” Sebastian was incredulous, and crossed his arms over his chest. With a wide grin, Hawke lifted the wooden door that had been placed as a cover from the pit.  
“Yep. A sewer. Good thing you’re not a prince of anything, or you might feel yourself too good to go trudging about in the shit of Darktown.”  
Sebastian would not let himself rise to Hawke’s bait, and frankly felt ashamed that the man who called himself a rogue could be quite so obvious. Swinging a leg over the side of the hole, he let himself drop to the floor below, finding it not as bad as he had imagined. The floor was almost dry, and though the smell was certainly enough to curl his nosehairs, it was no worse than some of the slaver caves of the Wounded Coast, or the pits of Sundermount.  
Fenris followed, and Sebastian and the elf were given a bare moment alone, in which they exchanged a lingering glance. Sebastian hoped he had managed to convey that he was indeed recovered, and that he had missed Fenris, and that he was thankful for Fenris’s thoughtfulness in letting Elthina know the situation, and retrieving his bow and armour from Darktown before one of Anders’s less honourable patients pinched them.  
There was a loud clatter and thump as Hawke, trying to hold Narf-Narf’s weight and jump rather than try to coax the mabari down the pit landed beside them. Dusting himself off, he shouted up to Anders.  
“Get yourself down here, as it was your sodding idea. And don’t bother with a mage light, I’d rather not see what I’m stepping in.”  
Anders dropped down in a flurry of robes and feathers, and Fenris took a step back, scowl returning at the mage responsible for the assault of their noses.  
Sela Petrae, the strange regent Anders sought, was fairly easy to come by, but the amount he needed was more problematic. Not to mention the lyrium smugglers and apostate magi that took offence to their territory being invaded. The resulting battle was brief, and though Sebastian could draw his arrows without pain, his aim was poor, and his chest felt heated and tight after the excursion. He was stretching his arm quietly, hoping no-one would have noticed his difficulty. Luckily, the near-constant bickering between Fenris and Anders had started up again, masking his discomfort.  
“Doesn’t it just show you? That these mages would rather live in a cesspit than in the circle.”  
“It shows that the mages would rather attack and try to burn the flesh from our bones rather than try to talk.”  
Whether Hawke had trained Narf-narf to intervene when arguments between mage and elf got too heated, or that the mabari’s good nature and better sense was in play, when the great mutt shook the encrusted filth from his fur in a spray of stinking mud and Maker knows what else, it did succeed in causing both Fenris and Anders to stop and turn angrily to Hawke, who was always held responsible for Narf-Narf’s actions.  
“Hawke! Control him!”  
“That was… unpleasant….”  
The mabari gave a cheerful bark, and then went off to sniff at a particularly foul corner.  
The carta assassin, who had been hiding in the shadows rather successfully until Narf-Narf bumped against his leg, cursed in dwarven, and suddenly the fetid air was again filled with shouts and the clash of metal.  
Hawke seemed delighted at this turn of events, and was merrily trading blows with one of the carta thugs who had emerged, while Narf-Narf threw himself at the hapless assassin. Anders had backed off against a wall, and was throwing magic about Hawke, covering him against the other thugs who had decided that the man wielding two daggers made for a better target than the glowing elf with a sword bigger than any of them.  
Sebastian did not see the second assassin stealth behind him, he was too much trying to will his arrows to fly true, rather than accidentally hit his friends. What he did feel, was a sharp pain between his ribs on his already injured side. He sank to the floor, the notched arrow losing its tension and clattering to the ground beside him as the assassin moved to place his second dagger in his windpipe. With a grunt, Sebastian swung his bow upwards, catching the dwarf under the chin, winding him.  
He would have dearly liked to be able to climb back to his feet, and finish the assassin off, but his lungs screamed for air. Though he tried to breathe, every breath he took made a worrying gurgle in his chest.  
“Sebastian!”  
His vision had narrowed a dark blur, but he heard Fenris’s call clear. He felt a flurry of movement, and what must have been the assassin’s last words cut short as a sword severed head from body.  
“Mage! Now!” Fenris’s voice was loud, nearing on desperate, and then, quieter, “Please.”  
Whether Anders heard that last word or not, Sebastian couldn’t tell, but he felt the healing magic touch him, warm and cool at the same time, and the sting of the flesh mending under the mage’s hands. Strangely, his other hand was being held, on the opposite side of Anders, and it took his a moment to blearily realise that the gauntlet he could feel pressed against his palm was familiar. _Fenris_.  
Any thought he might have formed in response was lost as he gave a cough, and could taste blood, and feel its sticky heat dribble down his chin.  
“Why haven’t you healed him!?” Fenris’s voice was too low now, too tight and angry. Sebastian dragged in a breath, the last of the blood clearing from his lungs. No doubt he did look a sight, and could well understand Fenris’s panic that he was getting worse. He tried to open his eyes, to choke out a reassurance, but his body was too busy remembering how to breathe.  
“I have…” Anders’s tone was equally dangerous, and hardly helping the situation. “You can tell on account of him not being dead.”  
He could make out in the distance Hawke and his mabari still engaged with something trying to kill them, and though it would take a small army to take down the hero of Kirkwall, without him or Narf-Narf, Sebastian worried that there was nothing to keep the two from coming to blows.  
He grasped blindly for Fenris’s hand, to hold him, ground him, but Anders must have mistook his clumsy movement for a flail, and the mage tried to knock the elf’s hand away.  
“What are you doing, you demented elf? Let him go!”  
“Do not touch me!” Fenris roared.  
Suddenly, Sebastian saw bright blue light pierce through his eyelids, even with his eyes shut. Whether it was Fenris or Anders, he could not tell, but there was no mistaking the pained yelp that followed was the mage’s. Finally, he managed to open his eyes, and saw that Fenris had grabbed Anders by the wrist, and was twisting viciously.  
“Fenris… Fenris, please stop.” Sebastian could hear how weak his words came out, and unheard they did nothing to deter Fenris from tightening his grip. Anders’s mouth was open in a cry of pain, as bone ground against bone. Fenris did stop however, when he felt the edge of Hawke’s dagger press against his neck.  
“Fenris, if you do not release him right this instant, I will not hesitate to burry this dagger deep into your throat.” Hawke, bloodied and all but growling out his words, was standing so still he might have been one of the stone statues in the gallows courtyard, but instead of suffering, his stance was nothing but rage.  
For an instant, Fenris looked like he might just continue crushing Anders’s wrist.  
“Fenris. Stop.” Something in him allowed his voice to be heard this time, and Sebastian gave thanks to the Maker for such a miracle.  
Anders made an indignant yelp as Fenris loosened his hand, and stepped back, his lyrium still flickering with the energy of the outburst. Hawke moved stand between Anders and the elf, his body practically thrumming with fury. Narf-narf, looking half the size he was, ears flat, made a hopeful whimper to attract Hawke’s attention, but Hawke’s eyes were fixed and glaring at Fenris.  
“Care to explain what the _fuck_ just happened….?”  
If there had been anybody left in the sewers, they would have surely fled upon hearing the threatening tone of Hawke’s voice.  
“My fault…” Sebastian coughed, and gathered himself to his feet, refusing to let the flare of pain in his side stop him. Anders, Fenris and, thankfully, Hawke turned to see the archer sway unsteadily, then plant his feet in a firmer stance upon the ground.  
“I was disoriented, hurt. I grabbed out at Fenris too much too rough, and he must have thought it was Anders. Entirely my fault. I apologise.”  
Hawke flicked his gaze to Anders, who did not say anything to contradict Sebastian, and, with reluctance, put his dagger away.  
“Right. We’re done here.”  
If Anders disagreed with Hawke’s declaration, he kept it to himself, but as they started to file to the exit, he stayed with Hawke between himself and Fenris. The elf walked with a stiffness, and kept looking to make sure Sebastian was not about to fall over. A stifling silence hung over the group, and Sebastian thought there would be nothing worse than for Hawke to leave Fenris hanging like that, no hint as to where he and the rogue might stand.  
They dragged a half smashed crate over, to serve as a step to help them get out of the stinking cesspit, and though it would be unsteady, it looked like it might be able to bear the weight of a man in armour. Just before Hawke moved to clamber back into what little daylight Darktown offered, he turned to Fenris and Sebastian.  
“Make no mistake, if you so much as touch Anders again, I will end you.” He said, eyes full of a fierce possessiveness, that Anders did not look entirely comfortable with.  
With a grunt and heave, he pulled himself upwards, and then reached down to help Anders. With considerably more effort he hoisted the mabari, who no longer barked happily nor wag his little stub of a tail. He did not offer hand to either Sebastian or Fenris, and left in the darkness, listening to Hawke’s footsteps grow faint, Sebastian cursed himself, because one look at Fenris, at the way his posture had slumped into itself, his hands clenched into tight fists and his expression grim, told him that those bitterly delivered words were much, much worse.

*****

No matter how much he hid the wince from his face, Fenris would not trust that Sebastian could walk back to the chantry alone, and hovered nervously beside him. It was all the archer could do to keep the weight of the bow and quiver on his own shoulders, rather than have Fenris cart them for him as if he were too weak to manage on his own. Sebastian made a brave show of walking without assistance, careful to keep his teeth ungritted when the odd heavy step jarred his ribs.

“… The mansion has a washroom. You’d be welcome to use it.”

That Fenris had been so quiet had been bothering Sebastian, but he could not concentrate on both not showing his pain, and trying to start a conversation, and so they had been walking in an almost laughable awkward silence. The elf’s words were welcome, and not only because it was good to hear something other than his own laboured breaths, but the content of his offer was enticing. The thought of the cramped, and at present over-crowded, facilities at the chantry was hardly appealing, and Sebastian could only imagine the high cleric’s response if he should bring his filthy armour in to scrub in the communal area. He did have a spare set of clothes at Fenris’s mansion, and though he dearly wanted to have the time to think things over, the idea of a proper bath was much too much to resist.

Fenris too, continued to worry him, though his words offered some measure of relief. His voice was too small for the warrior, the same flat emotionless delivery that usually heralded a violent outburst later if left unchecked. Sebastian could practically hear Fenris internally berating himself for letting his anger get the better of him and react so viciously against Anders. That Fenris’s temper had flared up when touched unexpectedly, while panicking that Sebastian had been coughing up blood, was not exactly surprising, but the fury of Hawke’s reaction had been. 

Hawke was many things, reckless and brave, valiant and skilled. Perhaps not the most truthful of heroes, nor the most tactful, but he did tend to get the job done. He was not however, the type to growl out idle threats, and if the chantry had not looked so sourly upon betting, Sebastian would have put money on the fact that Hawke was very serious when he warned Fenris against ever again lashing out against Anders.

Strangely, he did not think Hawke would have had quite the same response if it had been the hero himself faced with an angry glowing elf. Probably laughed it off in the hanged man the very same evening, but that it had been Anders that had been the target, had seemed to incite a fury in Hawke that Sebastian had not seen before. It felt uncomfortable, that the great hero of Kirkwall could display such rage, and possess the look of a man that might indeed slash out against allies. 

Part of Sebastian was almost glad he intended to remove himself from Hawke, and his dangerous expeditions, before those deadly daggers had a chance to turn upon him. That part was the same that thought that Fenris was too complicated to pursue, and that the idea of ruling Starkhaven seemed like entirely too much work. That the chantry was a safe, and above all, an easy lifestyle, free from having to try and make difficult moral judgements alone and fret over the consequences. It was much simpler to have Elthina take all the responsibility, and trust that the Maker’s chosen would always make the right decisions.

Sebastian hated that weaker part of him, that always sought out the easy path, but could not deny that if he wanted to live a full life without ending up in a dragon’s stomach, or crippled by one of the many thugs they battled with on almost a daily basis, or bled out by a powerful blood mage (that they seemed to come across every other day), there was some sense in paying heed to its call. The fact that in the space of a week he had been felled a second time only proved that.

That, however, did not help with trying to fathom how he was best to handle Fenris, and somehow find strength to share his decision to return to the chantry and respect his vows. Elthina could give no guidance, and though he knew he was dedicating his life to serve the Maker, there was no line from the chant of light that did not sound unconvincing in his mind to bolster his resolve.

“The use of your washroom would be appreciated…” Sebastian said carefully, watching to see if Fenris had only offered through politeness.

The way the elf’s eyes reclaimed some of their spark made his heart lurch, and he wondered if this was his punishment for bending the rules of his vows. It seemed to fit, that even as he tried to do the right thing, the path was difficult, and a test of his renewed commitment.

They did not speak further as they turned to go to the mansion Fenris had claimed, Danarius dead and unable to force the squatter from the dusty and dark hallways and unkempt rooms.

“Make yourself comfortable, and I shall set up the washroom….” Fenris walked through one of the side passages before Sebastian could offer his assistance, and the archer sighed. 

His head felt too full to try and piece together a plan, to bring together words that would not only give Fenris a much deserved evening where Sebastian repaid the elf for his understanding and selfless service for the prince’s pleasure, but also bring these ‘sessions’ to a close without causing a glowing blue fist to rip out his heart. The temptation to delay for another time, a time when his ribs did not ache, and he was not distracted by Hawke’s terrifying loss of control. It was certainly had some merit, to wait another day, though he knew that it would only make it harder for himself, and for Fenris the longer he left it. Still, at present his mind was a jumble, and there was little wisdom in making decisions when he could hardly hold himself standing. 

He had almost resigned himself to having a simple wash, then leaving and trying again another day, when he heard wood shattering, as if a chair had been thrown across the room by a qunari. 

He hoisted his bow and notched an arrow, something in the air causing him to greatly desire to be armed, remembering too well the shades that had invested the mansion the first time he had met Fenris. Softening his steps till they made almost no sound, he started to walk towards the source of the commotion, thankful for sake of his ribs that it came from the ground level, and not up the stairs.

He found Fenris, sword drawn, attacking the remains of a door. He watched, confused and just a little wary of the way the elf threw his full bodyweight behind each blow, teeth bared. The assault continued till the door was little more than shards and splinters, and then Fenris realised he was not alone. He lowered his sword, an old blade, hurriedly, and gestured to the room behind him. 

The room was like the rest of the mansion, weak light and a thin layer of grime covering all the walls and surfaces, but there was a smoothness under the dust that Sebastian recognised to be marble. The entire room was covered in sheets of marble, and in the middle of the room was a large bath, with seats craved into the stone. Hollow holes, that looked like they might connect together under the bath, were cut into the stone at three points spaced around the massive pit. There was a pump, standing tall and proud by the bath, and though Sebastian had thought he had seen luxury in his home castle, never before had he seen such a washroom.

He only remembered to let his bow arm relax, and the arrow safely fall into his hands when Fenris came forwards with a gathered armload of the broken door. The elf let the wood fall into the nearest pit, then used his foot to kick the last few shards down into the hollow.

“Fenris…” Sebastian breathed, “This place is a marvel…”

“I am glad you like it. If you pile your armour by the door, you can rinse it afterwards.”

Sebastian was aware of how fragrant he was, Fenris as well, and wondered how Fenris had managed to keep such a secret. He nodded gratefully, and started to lift the heavy plates of armour from his chest. His ribs certainly appreciated the lack of metal, and he allowed himself a couple of deep breaths without the constricting white and gold. As he moved to begin pumping water while Fenris saw to the fires to heat the bath, he realised that the bath was dusty, unused.

He pumped the handle a couple of times, getting the water to flow, and thought the first gush was dark with mud, the water soon started to run clear. Sebastian leaned over the edge, and began to wipe the dust from the sides and bottom of the grey marble, letting the water wash the grime from the smooth stone. As his hand passed over the seam where one piece of marble met another, he recognised the dwarven craftsmanship, and he nodded with appreciation.

Placing the stone seal, again, so well made that it fit exactly, and would not swell when submerged as wood might, into the drainage hole, Sebastian straightened, then set about the rhythmic work of using the pump to fill the bath. His ribs occasionally sent a small jolt of pain, but otherwise he was content to let his body rock with the regular motion, noting that it would take an age before the bath was full, as it was such a large volume to fill. Before his muscles started to burn unpleasantly, he paused, and turned his head to Fenris, smiling warmly at the sight of the elf, and the prospect of soon being able to sink into hot water and rid himself of the lingering stench of Darktown sewers.

Fenris had busied himself, filling each of the hollows with firewood, and then nursing a flame in a pile of the smallest pieces of door and a dry rag, striking the flint off his old blade, too blunt for battle but apparently still serviceable as woodaxe.

“Hmmm, this will be well worth the effort. Though, I am confused, why destroy the door…? You have firewood….”

“Not the right type.” Fenris responded, his words rushed and curt.

Sebastian had seen the way Fenris had tensed before answering, and rather than fixate on the way he had delivered his reply, tried to figure out the cause. He saw just how much wood had been required, and true, the usual logs Fenris used in his fireplace would have probably not fit down the narrow shafts that seemed to run under the bath. Then, the thought occurred that without the door to the bathroom there would be opportunity to watch someone as they bathed. It was exactly the sort of thing he would have done in his youth, and the possibility of Fenris doing such a thing sent a not unpleasant shiver through him.

In a bid to calm himself, he reasoned that the bath looked like it had not been used for a while, and that Fenris probably did not have a ready stock of suitable wood. That to save carting fuel for the fire too great a distance, he had decided to use the nearest available source, that being the door to the washroom. 

When Sebastian lifted his head to look at Fenris, a not entirely innocent smile playing across his lips, he saw that Fenris’s expression was grim.

“Fenris…?” His humour fled, immediately replaced with a tightness in his brow and chest. The elf shook his head, and turned towards the door.

“It is nothing. The water will be warm soon, enjoy your bath.”

Sebastian was on his feet faster than his healing ribs would have liked, and following Fenris as the elf took up a quick pace from the washroom. Without thinking, he reached out to catch him by the elbow, and Fenris jerked his arm away angrily. 

“Fool! Do you not learn? Do not touch me, it is too dangerous.”

There had been no flicker of blue, and at least Fenris had spun round and stopped walking away to berate him, both of which made him grateful. The outburst baffled him though, and he wondered if the bathroom held too many unpleasant memories of Danarius.

Then, too late, he realised that through all Fenris had said, he never indicated that he intended to use the bath, that all the efforts had been for Sebastian alone.

“You… do not wish to bathe…?”

“No.”

Sebastian sighed, the pain in his chest sapping his patience. “Speak your mind, else I can not know what is wrong….”

“I do not deserve it.”

He had been expecting to be told that Fenris had been forced to watch Danarius soak, but had not been permitted himself to allow the heated waters to ease his own muscles, or perhaps that Fenris was trying too hard to be a good host, and not intrude on his guest’s comfort. Fenris’s statement however, took him aback, and he found himself lost for words.

Finally, hands out in front of him, opening and closing in a poor replacement for speech, he gestured to the chairs, partly to give himself a few seconds to work out what to say, partly because it would be much harder for Fenris to walk away when seated. He was near certain that chasing the elf about the mansion would do his healing chest any good.

Fenris sat, hunched, and casting his eyes about, probably seeking a wine bottle to mask his obvious discomfort at announcing such a bare statement. Sebastian sat carefully, hands relaxed, everything in his posture striving to seem as understanding as possible.

“What makes you say that?” He fought to keep his voice calm, collected, though in truth he was angry at himself for missing that Fenris was so distraught. The lull of a hot bath had addled his senses it seemed, and though he had set out to cater for Fenris this evening, he appeared to be making a poor job of it.

“I… I angered Hawke today.”

Sebastian thought on this, then opened his hands out in front of his chest. “There were exceptional circumstances….”

“It does not excuse my actions.”

“Then what about Hawke? It is not right to threaten death upon those you would call a friend, no matter the situation.” Sebastian took a breath, and offered a small smile. “Do you not think that Hawke was out of sorts himself?”

“Perhaps….” There it was, that glimmer of a shift of perception in Fenris’s face that Sebastian had been hoping for. 

“Everyone has bad days, even the Kirkwall champion.”

Fenris fell quiet, and seemed to contemplate the ground under his toes, curling them against the floor. He gave a sigh, then glanced up at Sebastian.

“I have not ever seen him so angry. What… what ought I do to make amends?”

The archer clicked his tongue, suddenly uncertain. Maker knew Hawke was forever insulting those he spoke to, then using his wealth to cover up whatever crude comment he’d made, but that was hardly something he wished to encourage Fenris to imitate. 

“Perhaps you could offer an apology to Anders…?” he suggested, carefully, tentatively, knowing that what had started out as a simple distrust and dislike had over time crystalized into a bitter animosity between Fenris and the healer.

“I was afraid you might say that.” Fenris gave a little snort, not quite a laugh, but close enough Sebastian started to relax. The elf continued: “It would not go well, he brings out the worst of me. I have tried, for sake of Hawke and working together, to ignore him, but he is stubborn, and insistent, and forever voicing his views at every given opportunity.” 

It was hard to keep the small tickle of a smile spreading across his face, as Sebastian thought Anders might make a very similar statement if asked about Fenris. He gave a sincere nod to cover his mirth. 

“A letter then. I could help you pen a letter of apology, that you could deliver and not have to address Anders directly. You could even give it to Hawke to pass on to Anders, and let him see that you are trying to rectify the situation.”

It felt odd that Sebastian saw that somehow appeasing Hawke seemed almost as vital as making amends with Anders, but Hawke was much more dangerous. While he at times acted against the law, or common sense, he held their small group of friends together through his sheer confidence, and the archer knew that without Hawke, Fenris would find himself isolated. 

“I would not know what to write….” The hesitation was not an outright refusal, and Sebastian took this for a good sign. He could easily see that any attempt Fenris made to say sorry to the healer face to face could result in yet another shouting match between the two, and only make matters worse. A letter seemed an elegant solution, and while he knew that Fenris would not be versed in the proper way to write a formal apology, it might actually seem more honest and heartfelt if it were the elf’s own words upon the parchment, rather than the standard and stagnant phrases of remorse other people might write.

“Just say what you feel, what you want to convey. I have parchment, and quills and ink in my quiver, let me go fetch them.”

By the time he had retrieved the items, Fenris had not moved from his seat, thankfully. Sebastian set down the writing equipment upon the side table, shifting an empty bottle out the way to grant him better space. He was glad to see that the wax stopper upon his bottle of ink had held, and that the contents had not dried out, and was reminded how long it had been since he had had cause to write anything. In fact, the last piece of parchment he had applied ink and words to, was the chantry-board request to bring his family’s murderers to justice. It seemed right that he was now using his quill to bring peace, rather than Hawke’s brand of bloody vengeance.

Sebastian was aware of the bath, slowly heating in the washroom, but on account of the sheer volume of water felt that they did not have to hurry. Bending, (and Maker did his ribs protest the movement) he drew a dagger from his boot, and started to chip the wax from the cork of the bottle.

“You usually write the name of the person you are addressing at the top of the letter. For example, ‘Dear Anders,’….” Sebastian paused, realising that Fenris would likely rather chew glass than called the healer ‘dear’.  
“Or perhaps, ‘To Anders,’ or simply, ‘Anders,’ might suffice. What do you think?”

“Anders….” The word sounded foreign on Fenris’s tongue, forced, and Sebastian could recall how Fenris usually addressed Anders as ‘mage’. Perhaps here was a chance to break that particular habit, in the interest of soothing things between the elf and the mage.

“A good start. Though I wish we knew Anders’s real name, it is always more polite to use names, and is generally received better.” Less subtle than he would have liked, but given that he was worn down, and aching deep in his chest, he did not berate himself too harshly.

“Then… something like… ‘I am very sorry for crushing your arm.’” Fenris, whilst his expression showed he was not enjoying the task, did seem to be making an effort. It was reassuring, if not the most eloquent of phrasing. It put Sebastian of a mind when a sibling would be called in by an angered parent and forced to speak words of apology that they did not really mean. 

“Hmmm,” Sebastian touched the tip of the quill to the ink pot, and started to write the letter, but paused purposefully, “perhaps… it might be best not to remind him of the specifics of what happened…? It might only bring up the memories, and make him less receptive to your apology. You could say, ‘sorry for the incident in the Darktown sewers…’?”

Fenris crossed his arms, frowning in concentration. “I am very sorry for what occurred in the Darktown sewers. He was... sorry. You… were not to blame, and did not deserve such treatment. I apologise that I let my anger get the better of me, when you were only trying to heal Sebastian…. I … I am grateful for your healing abilities, and should not have interrupted. In future I will better trust in your expertise in healing magics …” he looked up to Sebastian, who was hastily scribbling down the words, intending to write them again in a more legible script later.

“That is good, really.” Sebastian was surprised at how easily Fenris seemed able to put together an apology. It may have been a little stilted, and overly formal, but it held similar form to his normal speech patterns, and that would lend itself well to seeming sincere and genuine. 

“Is there more that has to be said?” Fenris seemed relieved that it was over, and Sebastian thought he saw the elf sit up a little straighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Then there was the issue of signing a name to the letter. Sebastian finished jotting down Fenris’s words, so as not to forget them, then resting his head in a hand, lay his quill down.

“Just your name. You can use a cross to make your mark, or perhaps an ‘F’. If you like, I can write out F and you can try to copy the shapes the letter makes.” 

“Then I shall do that.”

The archer passed over parchment with ‘F’ written large for Fenris to start with, then smaller so it would fit at the bottom of a letter. He showed Fenris how to dip the quill so that there was not so much ink as to drown the paper, and how to hold the thin shaft between his fingers. The spare quill was a little more frayed at the tip, but given the awkward way that Fenris pushed at the paper, as if trying to carve the name into the pulped wood, it would have made no difference to provide a better quill. 

Sebastian gave a bright smile as Fenris made his efforts, and set out a piece of paper for himself to start on the final copy. By the time he was finished, Fenris was able to reproduce the first letter of his name, his lines more confident and a faint smile at his achievement dancing around his lips. The letter was finished, and signed, and then set aside for the ink to dry. 

“Now, I think that the bath should be ready. We ought to go and enjoy it while the water is warm.”

Perhaps not normally the most chaste nor innocent of suggestions, but Sebastian did not want to leave Fenris alone, not when his mood was so volatile, and so much progress had been made. He deliberately used a tone that left no room for Fenris to refuse, as if it were a given that they would share a bath, and there it would be unthinkable to do elsewise.

“The bath….” Fenris raised a brow, his tone not quite questioning his vows and how they would fit with the act of bathing together, as if he didn’t want to remind Sebastian. The archer gave a shrug, trying not to think on his vows, and that he intended tonight to be the last of his experiments in the technicalities of his oaths. 

“The water will only stay warm for so long, and it seems a waste not to both enjoy a bath. The tub is certainly large enough for two. You can even bring a bottle of wine and glasses, and we shall truly indulge.”

Fenris, it seemed, needed little other encouragement, and gathered the wine and glasses, and started towards the washroom, which had started to steam gently as the fires burning beneath the marble transferred their heat to the stone and water. Sebastian brought with him two of the night robes Fenris had to hand, as well as the discarded bucket from the wine tasting to use for rinsing. He dipped it into the clean, warm water, before they sullied it with the remnants of Darktown clinging to their skin, and set it within easy reach. He considered briefly looking to see if Danarius had left any soap, or oils, but the idea of smelling like Fenris’s dead master seemed a poor plan. He did however find a little bar of lye soap, the stinging acrid type, that smelled of an alchemist’s laundry. It might not be the most pleasant smelling of items, but it would scrub the filth from them well, and guarantee that they did not carry the stink of Darktown with him once they were finished in the bath. He placed the soft lump at the edge of the bath, avoiding the puddles of escaped water that would reduce it to a soapy sludge. He did not intend to use it at first though, instead let simple water and heat clean what it could from his body, before subjecting his skin to the sting of the lye. Not to mention, with nothing to mar the water, he would be better able to admire Fenris’s form. 

He stripped from his clothes, quickly, to distract himself from such thoughts, which were not helping the small nag at the back of his mind that this would have to be the last time, that he ought not to let himself get too carried away. He took Fenris’s old sword, figuring that after being used as a wood axe, and then a striking surface, that Fenris was not too attached to the blade. He pulled the flat of the sword through the water, stirring the bath, making sure the heated water by the marble and the cold water too far to benefit from the heat of the fire mixed. Upon testing the water, Sebastian found that though it was a little cool still, the inlaid seats and marble were almost perfect. He slipped into the water, glad he had not filled it too full, as it meant they would be able to add cold water should the fires heat the water too much.

Fenris, was still peeling his leather armour from him, as Sebastian steadied himself, and dipped into the water. He found the ledge running around the side of the bath to be a good height for seating comfortable, with enough room to stretch his legs. 

The hot marble as his back, especially at the tender flesh of the healing ribs, was blissful. Sebastian did not let his eyes droop closed, instead deciding to check over his aching side to survey the damage. There was the paleness of scar tissue stretched tight over the dragon claw marks, and a fresh knot of skin in a line where the dagger had dug deep, but he knew these would fade in time. He was somewhat surprised that the wounds looked much less severe than the ache would have had him believe, and was quietly grateful that the sight might reassure Fenris, who he caught casting a worried glance over his chest.

“He did a good job…” Sebastian said quietly to himself, and knew that to be an understatement. He was confident that without Anders, he would have perished from his injuries, from both dragon, and the again from carta assassins. It felt strange, that if he had handed Anders over to the Templar as the chantry rule dictated, he would have died as a result. An uncomfortable thought, and one that had been bothering him. 

The sight of Fenris, casting off the last of his armour into a corner and then looking to Sebastian for permission, banished all thoughts of the chantry, and Anders, from his mind. He had seen before, but the way that lyrium curled over skin, and arms and legs held strong and steady still stole his breath. Sebastian could only nod, and try not to stare as Fenris gracefully stepped into the bathwater.

Sebastian reached to pour a glass of wine, as Fenris settled into the water opposite him. He took the offered glass, and drank, then licked his lips, trying to will words to fill the silence, which had started to feel awkward.

“I.. I can see the appeal now. Of a bath I mean… it always seemed much too much hassle for simply getting clean, but this… this is pleasant.”

Sebastian nodded sagely, and then, knowing fine well that it was a poor plan, poured himself a glass of wine. 

“Like massage, the heat can help ease worn muscles.”

Fenris stretched, and the archer was aware of a foot brush against his shin. Fenris hastily pulled backwards, with a little splash of panic, and Sebastian motioned that there was no cause for such alarm.

“Easy, it is all right. We are bathing together, and though this is a magnificent tub, it is only expected that we shall come into contact on the odd occasion.”

Fenris, thankfully, did not look too horrified at the thought, and Sebastian felt a hot tickle down his nerves at the prospect of touch, however light and fleeting. Sebastian crossed his arms, and looked at Fenris thoughtfully.

He sat without trying to hide himself, seemingly perfectly at ease with his body. Though marked all over with lyrium, he wore his true scars beneath his skin, Danarius’s festered hold lingering from beyond the grave. It saddened Sebastian to think that the elf still suffered his past, and though it seemed to be improving, Fenris’s difficulties with touch were notable. Only half intentionally, reached with his own foot under guise of a shift of position, to stroke against Fenris’s calf. Fenris gave him a curious gaze, and no more.

It would be too easy to repeat the gesture, blue eyes locked with green, and see how Fenris might react, whether he would shy from the touch or embrace it. The temptation was there, Sebastian could not deny it any more than he could resist the warmth from the heated stone at his back.

He turned his head, biting down on the urge, trying not to watch how the ripples of water made Fenris’s lyrium tattoos seems to dance, trying not to think of how he would love to chase them with his fingertips, tracing the curves and curls, up his legs, down his chest… too late he realised he was wondering what it would felt like to run a hand over the flesh between Fenris’s legs, rubbing the shaft till it hardened, feeling the blood pulse under his hands.

Sebastian felt sure his cheeks must have been blushing at such thoughts, so he dipped his hands into the water, cupped some of the liquid and splashed his face. It felt good, cleansing, and he repeated the act, water dripped from his eyebrows, his skin refreshed. When he wiped his eyes, he saw Fenris looking at him… no, staring. 

He saw the way the elf’s hands curled, the shift of his legs below the water’s surface, his whole body shifting minutely with each breath. He was lean, every muscle toned and his movements flowing and controlled. His skin, a darker tone than Sebastian’s, flushed slightly with the heat of the water, and Sebastian watched as Fenris moved, letting the water move against him. Then, carefully, Fenris shuffled round the edge of the ledge, closer. 

Green eyes were fixed upon his, watching for disapproval or alarm. Sebastian did not miss how wide they were with fear. Those eyes had him trapped, and he felt that if he could only escape their intense gaze, he might be able to collect himself and not think about disregarding his vows entirely, that he might be able to respect Fenris’s issues with touch, and not press against him, whether he was willing or not. It would be easy to stand, then with a hand placed either side of his shoulders, pin the elf between the stone and his own body. Those last fleeting thoughts, small, wicked things, that quietly whispered that Fenris did not _have_ to consent, that he might like it if Sebastian simply took what he wanted, scared Sebastian. He had never desired someone so much that he would be willing to force himself upon them, and the thought of pushing Fenris to acts he did not wish made him felt sick, but that did not stop the little whispers.

Sebastian wiped his eyes again, searching for a polite way to regain the distance, the only thing keeping his desires in check, keeping Fenris safe from the prince. Finally, he gave a smile, which felt weak on his lips.  
“Your hair… it is a shame not to see it at its palest. Will you let me wash it?”

Fenris looked disappointed, but nodded, and Sebastian turned to gather the soap up, rubbing it feverishly between his hands, as if the suds might purify his own mind. 

“Turn round, and close your eyes. You’ll not want to get soap in them.”

Fenris complied, trusting, more fool him. Breathing deep and slow, Sebastian carefully moved to start rubbing the foam into the hair, relieved to not have Fenris look at him, as if the elf might see into his mind and witness the terrible thoughts that lurked there. 

Mud and grime bleached from the soft strands, and the suds turned grey as the hair reclaimed its natural brilliant white. Fingertips rubbed against Fenris’s scalp, and the elf made a pleased murmur, encouraging Sebastian to make good of the task. The small circles he made into damp hair and lather calmed him, and the way that Fenris leaned into his hands seemed natural, normal. He began to map out the curve of Fenris’s head, fingers sliding against scalp, moving down to the nape of the neck.

He felt the tension as he touched upon the sensitive skin of the back of the neck, and then again as he moved behind ears, but Fenris did not call for him to stop. Soon, he was able to sweep his hand cover the entire head without so much as a twitch, and he was just about to start applying more pressure, more like a massage, when he felt his fingers start to tingle.

It was the soap, and to be expected from the lye, but it reminded Sebastian too much of his dream, where his hands had burned away after giving Fenris a massage. He drew his hands back, and rinsed them in the water, but the bite of lye and memory of the pain of his dream remained. He swallowed, hard, and moved from Fenris, settled at the other end of the bath, feigning that he was positioning himself closer to his wineglass.

Fenris, eyes still shut, tilted his head at feeling the prince retreat, and after appearing to listen for a moment, pinched his nose and dunked himself under the water. When he broke the surface, his hair was plastered onto his head, but clean, and he used a hand to push the strands from his face.

Odd, to see Fenris without his usual fringe hiding him, moreso to see his eyes, soft, content, and Maker damn him, entirely too enticing. Rivulets of water cascaded down his back, the droplets tracing the lines of the lyrium, as if taunting Sebastian to do the same. His hands itched, as if to warn him against such temptation. Sebastian drank from his glass, willing the wine to provide words to fill his mouth, which felt dry.

“Thank you.” Fenris said, indicating his hair, and reached for his own glass, watching Sebastian, as if trying to fathom why the archer was so quiet.

Caught again in the green gaze, Sebastian felt uncomfortable. He could see that Fenris was waiting for instruction, or even some form of clue as to how to act in the situation, and Sebastian, through his silence and failure to guide, was not helping. Fenris was inexperienced, and it would be so very easy to lie and declare that the normal protocol was to wash each other’s backs, and more…. The idea of Fenris touching him, shy hands, but strong, definitely gave the deception merit, and Sebastian had to fight to keep his mouth shut, lest lies pour out of it.

The air grew thick, both with the increasing steam from the bathwater, and the growing discomfort and unease between the two men. 

He was a poor teacher, and a poorer friend, he thought, as he looked away from Fenris’s face, and down the sleek contours of the elf’s body. As he took it the clean, exposed skin, he felt the blood rush southwards, and then also to his cheeks as he realised the water would not veil his half-stiff erection. Before Fenris could try to react, and only make the terrible temptation worse, Sebastian decided he had best get out of the water.

He clambered out, turning to hide his front, and then used clean water from the bucket which was only a little bit too cool, and in that quite welcome, to drench over himself, leaving half behind for Fenris. 

“You fear me.” Fenris stated, taking Sebastian’s sudden departure to be his doing, his fault. Sebastian gave an inward groan that in his haste to remove himself from the situation, he had added to Fenris’s already sizeable self-doubt. As he pulled a robe over himself, he could not bring himself to confess his lust-driven thoughts, too dark to admit to. Instead he softened his face, silently willing his cock to follow suit.

“No… why would you think such a thing?”

“I am dangerous still, even to those who I ought to call my allies. Today, I showed it. I may not have any love for the mage, but he did not earn such wrath. Hawke had to hold a dagger to my face to stop me… and even then, part of me did not want to stop till I had broken a bone. I destroy things. Doors, trust... people… You’d be a fool not to fear such as me.”

Sebastian remembered asking why Fenris had ‘destroyed’ the door, and the way his shoulders had tensed in response. It all started to become clear, and Fenris was still struggling with his anger, and frustration that sometimes he could not contain himself. No small wonder then, that he figured those around him to be afraid, as he was frightened of himself.

“I am not in the habit of bathing with people I distrust, much less fear.” Finding as dry a patch of stone by the bath as he could, Sebastian sat and reached a hand down to Fenris to help him out, that they might speak face to face, without Sebastian having to look down, and more importantly, having Fenris clothed to allow Sebastian to talk without the distraction of the flesh.

Fenris did not take his hand, and tipped his head to the side. “You are not bathing with me anymore.” He said quietly. “Am I to take that as sign you have realised my nature?”

Sebastian could not help but give an exasperated sigh. “And what exactly is your nature?”

“A living weapon. Nothing more.”

There was just a hint of Danaruis’s voice in the words, that led Sebastian to believe that this was a phrase used often by the dead magister, so much so that Fenris could not speak the words without echoing the cruel master’s tone.

Against his better judgement, Sebastian reached further with his hand. His ribs disliked the stretch, but of more import that their comfort was stopping Fenris from dwelling on this particularly poisonous notion. 

Eventually, hesitantly, as if he expected Sebastian to slacken his arm suddenly and cause him to stumble or withdraw his hand at the last moment, Fenris placed his slender palm against Sebastian’s. With a heave that he knew he’d feel the next day in his chest, Sebastian pulled Fenris from the water.

“You do yourself a great disservice. You are so much more.”

He looked over the dripping elf, dusky skin in the faint light holding an eerily paleness along the lines of lyrium. His limbs bunched in a coiling tightness, like an animal, cornered, sizing up whether it would be better to flee or fight. 

And yet, even so tense, his face a mask of sceptical scorn, he was heart-achingly handsome. Sebastian let a natural smile at the sight of Fenris touch his face.

“If only you could see what I do…”

It was a weak dismissive cough that followed, and Sebastian would have had to be blind to miss the way Fenris’s eyes darted to him, assessing whether it was a sincere statement. Either unable to tell that Sebastian was indeed half a breath from sighing like a simpering maiden at Fenris standing naked and exposed to his core, or unwilling to believe that he might have such an effect, Fenris fell back to his defensive habit, all hard eyes and hint of a sneer on his lips. Sebastian, who had been expecting this, did not react, and continued.

“I see strength, beyond just muscle. That you will stand and face that which unnerves you is something I’ve always admired. That you seek to better yourself, that you will admit your mistakes and apologise for them. You have a will of your own, and have had to fight for the privilege harder than most, and so appreciate it all the more.”

He knew at once he’d picked his words poorly, as Fenris’s mouth drew into a thin line and his eyes narrowed.

“Will? Hmph. Would that I could control myself, I may be able to admit that I did indeed have my own will. So far though, I have been doing little more than waiting for Daranius to return. If I truly have a will, I would not have put myself at such risk of losing it again.”

Confused, unsure of what he ought to say, Sebastian offered a robe to Fenris, lest he catch chill, hoping the practical gesture might hide his loss for words. The elf draped it over his shoulders, both of which seemed to slump under the weight of the flimsy fabric. 

“I do not understand…” Sebastian said.

Fenris gave a sigh, soft and sad.

“I spent the last five years waiting for Danarius, dispatching his mercenaries, waiting for the man himself to make an appearance. Danarius was powerful, and I confess, I did not hold out much hope of succeeding when we battled. This, I did not say, to Hawke, to you, to any of those who would be at risk should the magiester make a move against me.  
“I could have run further, rather than stay and make myself an easy target, in his own mansion no less. I could have hidden myself better, worn armour to cover the lyrium, or done any of a multitude of things to better secure the freedom I had won for myself. But I did not, I simply sat, and waited for Danarius to claim me back. I did not, could not, make any attempt to surrender, but neither did I try to safeguard myself. ”

Fenris drew his arms to his chest, fingers clutching at the rode. “Part of me wanted Danarius to bring me back… Beat me down and take me by force, so that I could pretend that I did not want it, that I had at least fought to retain my freedom... but in truth, part of me _wanted_ to go back, to follow his orders and be his blade. To be the weapon he made me…” Everything in his voice spoke of the misery he felt, at voicing that even though he hated Danarius, and slavery, there was something of a lure in bowing his head and submitting to another.

Sebastian could well understand. It was similar to the path he sought by following the chantry, as much as slavery could be compared to voluntary servitude to the Maker. It was part of the reason he was going back to the safe stone walls of the chantry, and the written rules to be obeyed. Leaving the difficult decisions of his life to someone else, so that he could not regret nor err, that someone else bore all the responsibility for his every action.

“It is not always easy, having freedom to do what you wish…” he was speaking carefully now, scared at what he might let slip, that Fenris might think less of him if he knew Sebastian was not willing to fight as Fenris had. That he was taking the easy route, and that it would remove him from Fenris’s company.

“But…” Sebastian continued, trying to sound convincing, “It is a gift to be able to follow your own path, to work for your own goals. To know what you want, and be able to work for it.”

“But I cannot have what I want…” Fenris was looking directly at Sebastian as he spoke, then opened his mouth in a gasp, cheeks colouring quickly, as if shocked at his own words “Forgive me, I did not mean to say such things.”

Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt he might choke on it. There could be no mistaking that look, however fleeting, those green eyes betraying the pure, want and _need_. He didn’t want to say love, couldn’t bring himself to even think the word, bit there was no denying that Fenris was looking upon him with adoration. The prince took a step back, and the spell was broken, Fenris’s eyes turned downwards, the blush fading from his face.

“I… I need to go and fetch something. Use the bucket of clean water to rinse, and meet me in the living room, where the fire shall soon dry you. “

Sebastian left, not trusting himself to look back, to watch as the elf tipped the water over his naked body, or worse, look at him with those on-the-edge of glistening eyes.

Many a noblewoman and whore alike had confessed her love to him, in verse that was plain or poetic, blunt or elegant, but all sharing a statement of wanting to be with him. Sebastian figured that most fancied the idea of being a princess far more than they desired himself, but some had sounded suspiciously sincere. A man too, had once declared his feelings, voice trembling with the emotion of the moment. Sebastian had politely refused them all, brushing off their admissions, usually taking it as a sign to move on to the next conquest.

He had seen tears, and on one memorable occasion had had to duck to avoid a thrown vase, but all the while had felt no guilt noir remorse that he had not returned their feelings, that he had led them to hold the relation in higher regard than he. He had always made clear that when he went to bed, it was lust that moved him and his hips, but some people would not pay proper heed to his warnings not to treat the tumbles and midnight meetings as more than they were.

He was not so self-centred not to realise the hurt he had caused, albeit inadvertently. Sebastian had always civil afterwards, and tried to remain warm to those who had succumbed to his bright blue eyes and high-born blood. Warm, but not intimate, not once the poisonous words had been said.

Never before had he wanted that look of love to linger, to embrace and nurture it. To share it.

He leant against a wall heavily, not minding the cobwebs that stuck to his hair. It was too much, and he did not know to how respond. 

The best thing, so that he could return to the chantry and pledge himself anew to the service without any loose ends, would be to refuse Fenris, politely, but firmly, as he had done so many times before. Fenris would be upset, hurt, and probably angry, but that was not what held Sebastian back from starting to formulate a reply, no, he just could not bring himself to break the trust and friendship that had formed between them, no matter how much easier it would make things in the long run.

Neither could he acknowledge and reciprocate though, his vows, his plans to return to the chantry prevented such. 

He could, however, pretend he had not caught the look, and had missed the meaning. Fenris had been vague enough that the idea merited consideration, and the more Sebastian thought of it, the more he was inclined to simply more on, and not raise the issue again. 

There was the niggling guilt at not granting Fenris closure on the topic, but Sebastian was practiced at not letting his feelings show. He did require a distraction though, to prevent Fenris from trying to clarify, or give explanation and ruin his ruse. 

What had they been speaking about…? Danarius, no, that would not ease matters, but before that Fenris had been comparing himself to a weapon, and seemed loath to move from the metaphor.  
The silver tongued Sebastian of his youth, who had been able to flatter a hardened whore, and charm his father’s guards to look the other way as he slipped from his bedchambers, emerged. With quick wits and just a hint of devious cunning, Sebastian started to piece together a plan.

*****

When Sebastian walked in, he could see the delay had made Fenris nervous. In short, quick steps, the elf paced back and forth in front of a now lit fire, casting long shaky shadows across the room. He looked up the moment he saw Sebastian approach, his foot faltering in its path. He collected himself hurriedly and stood, wearing the almost white cotton robe, but his movements having loosened the tie. It hung from him, his shoulder and chest exposed, skin clean and for the most part, dry.

Fenris was about to ask a question, or perhaps offer apology of a non-existent error, but before he could part his lips to speak, his eyes were drawn to the item Sebastian held. An arrow, freshly plucked from his quiver, with a dark grey tuff of feathers to make the flight. Sebastian himself had carved the grooves to insert the feathers he’d found on his many journeys around the wounded coast, the thick and sturdy quills of seabirds ideal for his weapons.

The prince had taken a piece of soft leather, that he usually used for buffing his armour, and wrapped it around the head of the arrow, to prevent the bite of rough metal cut into his hand. He’d seen finer smithed arrowheads, but the number of monsters he’d faced while out with Hawke who did not seem to appreciate the fine craftsmanship led him to choose quantity over quality. 

“A weapon.” He announced, the arrow settled in his open palms, presented towards Fenris. “Capable of felling an enemy, of causing great hurt. But… when held a different way…” Sebastian curled his fingers round the tip of the arrow, and extended his arm, letting the feathers of the end brush against Fenris’s shoulder, taking care to touch where the robe covered, rather than directly onto the skin. 

Fenris turned his head to watch, his stance only slightly poised for battle. 

“Today I saw you use a sword to make firewood, then strike against the blade to ignite tinder. A weapon can be many things, not all of them destructive.”

Fenris had not moved, and though he wore the robe, he would still have been able to feel the feather’s touch upon him. Boldened, Sebastian let the feather make contact against skin, and as softly as he was able, stroked Fenris’s cheek. Fenris’s eyes drooped a little, and he tipped his head into feathers, ever-so slightly.

“It is the one who wields the weapon that decides how it is used, whether to defend or attack, whether to hurt, or protect. No-one has power over you Fenris, no-one but yourself.”

Sebastian lowered the arrow, bringing it back to himself and laying it across both his palms again. He gave the arrow a tap again his palm, and smiled.

“But enough of that…” He gave a smile, that he knew was too much like a grin, but he could not help himself, knowing what he had in store for the elf, “ _I_ may not be permitted to touch you, but this can. I could brush you all over with the feathers, till your skin sings. Or…” he brought the arrow up and down again sharply, letting it crack against the flat of his hand. He grinned openly, as Fenris’s green eyes regained their focus after a moment of wide-eyed dilation, looking the object in his hands rather than at him.

“Does it please you?” he asked, dropping his voice to a low purr.

Fenris gave a nod, eyes locked upon the smooth wood and feathered flight. Sebastian felt a great relief surge through him. He had thought that the idea might have appealed to Fenris, the elf having such a strong reaction to the pervious caning. He had even compared it to a release, and after the events of the day, such an outlet was surely needed. 

It had, thought Sebastian would not admit it to Fenris, the added bonus of being something Sebastian did _not_ find particularly appealing. Certainly, he could take pride in working the arrow to Fenris’s need, but that actual act of bringing the arrow down upon skin held neither joy, but also no distaste. That he would not lose himself in the task, would grant him strength to hold himself back, as well as making sure that Fenris was left satisfied. 

After checking Fenris’s eyes, and expression a third time to make sure that there was no trace of fear, or doubt, Sebastian straightened, and tapped the arrow, watching how Fenris’s eyes followed the bolt.

“Then tell me…. How ought I to wield this arrow?”

He could see the breath gather in Fenris’s chest before the elf let it past his lips, ribcage swelling beneath the robe. With a glint that Sebastian was fast appreciating often heralded Fenris’s more indulgent nature, the elf brought his hands up to the edge of the robes, toying with the fabric held loosely in his fingers.

“I thought it was the one who holds the weapon that gets to decide….”

Both Sebastian’s eyebrows rose as the robe was dropped, Fenris gracefully stepping from the discarded clothe. His eyes were intense, and Sebastian froze in the sights, something in the elf’s stare hinting that Fenris was not done yet, even though Sebastian was already finding the act of drawing breath to be difficult.

Fenris raised both hands and laced his fingers behind his head. His feet firmly planted against the ground, every muscle taunt and ready. Fenris adopted the stance easily, as if it were a position well practiced. Still, there was nothing of the slave here, Sebastian noted, Fenris’s pose proud, head held high and eyes unafraid to look upon the archer.

A smile ghosted across his lips, and he said, a small quaver of excitement in his voice: “I trust you.”

When he then closed his eyes, Sebastian felt his heart miss a beat, shocked into stillness at the gesture. So simple a thing, but coming from Fenris, who had had to learn distrust and vigilance as a way of life…  
Sebastian was sure that he’d never stop admiring the strength of the elf, and decided that till the sun rose, he’d try to be worthy of that trust.

He circled round, letting his footfalls sound to allow Fenris to track his position, and touched the feathered end of the arrow lightly down the line of his forearm, the muscle over bone curving pleasantly. 

Nothing so drastic as a flinch or jolt, but there was a definite twitch as the feathered flight drifted across Fenris’s skin. Sebastian wondered if the sensation was pleasant for him, knowing that the elf struggled with touch, and watched for any sign that the experience was painful, or enjoyable.

If anything, Fenris seemed inpatient, waiting for the crack of the shaft of the arrow against him. 

Hard to resist the way Fenris panted in anticipation, but harder still to know that as soon as he started, it would herald the end of this final session. Sebastian was loath to set aside the feathered end and move on to the hard rod of the arrow, just yet.

He used the tips of the quills to caress an arm, then sweep down against the row of knuckles of his hands, Sebastian behind him and able to fully admire the form, gaze lingering on the roundness of his rear. Feather followed his eyes, brushing down the spine, experimentally touching upon the lyrium tattoos that were buried into his skin. 

He noticed, that though Fenris did not outwardly react to the feathers save for the wash of goosebumps across his flesh, his lyrium seemed on the cusp of a faint glow. Not as strong a flickering candle, but more like the edge of a magical blade, a shimmer of light that let you know the metal was enchanted. Sebastian tried to catch himself, before he directly compared Fenris to a weapon, powerful, but dangerous, and was glad of Fenris’s closed eyes that the elf could not see the uncertainty blanch his face as the metaphor settled in his mind.

He did not believe Fenris to be nothing more than a living weapon, as he had claimed, but he could not deny that there were some definite similarities between Fenris and the hefty two-handed sword he wielded. Both were strong, and unyielding, Fenris’s viewpoints held rigid and frim, at times to his detriment.

No sword, though, ever looked so beautiful, so tempting to run fingers over the surface, feel the strength contained within.

Sebastian swallowed hard enough to hurt his throat, as he used the feathered tip to touch where he could not, technically not breaking his vows but all the same taking part in something imitate, and erotic.

“I should think I’ll not see my arrows in the same light again… not after seeing the way they dance over your skin Fenris, the way they glide so smooth over your naked body.”

A surprised little noise escaped Fenris’s lips, as the arrow traced further down, past the small of the back and over his ass. Sebastian manipulated the arrow like a pen, drawing intricate circles and lines, as he is was marking Fenris with a new set of tattoos, these ones gentle and soft, and a secret between the two of them.

Under the kiss of the arrow, Fenris’s skin was starting to shiver. Concerned that the elf stood to catch a chill from being naked with only the fire as a heat source, Sebastian paused, and looked round to glance at Fenris’s face.

“You are shivering, are you cold?”

Pale hair flicked outwards as Fenris shook his head, eyes still closed. “No. It is what you do to me…”

“Hmmm.” Sebastian was pleased at the statement, and with a swift movement, brought the arrow from the base of the spine upwards. Fenris swayed slightly on his feet, and his breathing becoming fragmented, just for a moment.

“Ah rather like that Ah can have such an effect on you… “He forced his accent, to veil the fact that as if guilty, his own manhood was refusing to be moved by the sight of the elf, naked and flexing with every stroke and caress. Irritating, but understandable given the dark mood that had plagued him all evening, and the archer decided that things would progress smoother if Fenris was not aware of his lack of arousal. 

He looked over and saw that Fenris _was_ reacting, and was satisfied in this. Sebastian was then struck by a wicked notion; “Are yeh ticklish?”

Fenris pursed his lips together before replying. “I... I do not know.”

Glee at being able to explore new territory filled Sebastian, and he had to check himself, remembering that this was for Fenris, and not to rush headlong without ensuring Fenris was comfortable in what he did.

“Then let us find out…”

When Fenris made no motion to move away, nor speak out against the idea, Sebastian very carefully ran the feathered tuff up the side of Fenris’s ribs, stopping short of the more sensitive area under the arms till he could gage whether Fenris was enjoying the touch or not.

A twitch upwards of the thin lips at the corner of his mouth, usually so controlled against revealing his thoughts, reassured Sebastian. With a deliberate pause, so that Fenris would not be able to tell where the next touch would land, Sebastian jiggled the edge of the arrow against Fenris’s opposite underarm.

The bark of a laugh surprised them both, and Sebastian broke into a wide smile as Fenris’s brow over his still shut eyes lifted.

“It would seem yeh are… How interestin’….” 

He worked then, on breaching Fenris’s tight-lipped defences, watching how the elf found it increasingly hard to keep his stance, all but squirming as Sebastian touched there, and there, and _there_. Shoulders rolled, and his hands clutched together in efforts to stay in position, holding the stance now a challenge when faced with feather against his skin, the touch light and excruciatingly ticklish. Almost breathless with trying to contain himself, Fenris finally let loose a long laugh, that reverberated through his whole body.

When he had caught his breath, and found that Sebastian’s feathered assault had ceased, Fenris carefully opened one eye. Sebastian stood to one side, brushing the feathers along his own fingers, and licked his lips, eyeing the elf hungrily.

“Ah think, now, that Ah’d very much like to see yer skin marked up by stripes, red and vivid and many….”

It was a lie, albeit one based on good intentions. His side was paining him, and he feared he’d not be able to keep a brave face on to mask his discomfort indefinitely. Also, he was aware that although Fenris said he wasn’t cold, the elf was naked – _Maker be praised_ \- in a room with only a newly lit fire to warm the air, and that as pretty as he was wriggling under the feathertip, his skin shone with the thinnest layer of sweat as well as the blue glow of lyrium, and that could easily bring his temperature down sharply. 

Sebastian, however, felt too warm, and as Fenris watched him, tied his robe tight around his waist, but slipped his shoulders free of the sleeves. The clothe fell from his back, the cord holding it over his lower half, empty arms of the robes trailing in his wake. Chest bare, and arms free to move, he let Fenris cast green eyes over him, knowing that he had positioned himself to hide the fresh wound, lest it worry Fenris unduly.

Breaths that were harsh, and heavy, betrayed Fenris, and he gathered himself back into position, the tension in his muscles making him thrum with anticipation. He gave Sebastian a final grateful glance, then slid his eyes shut again, ready and waiting for the bite of the arrow against sensitised skin.

He would miss this, Sebastian thought, as he slowly circled his shoulder, preparing his own muscles so they would not join his ribs in aching later. He was using his off hand, in part to ease the strain on his injured side, partly because he knew he’d have less strength and be less likely to hurt Fenris beyond what he wanted. Physically anyway.

He knew that leaving would damage Fenris, but he believed the elf was strong enough to move on once he’d gone. It would be better, in the long run, for Fenris not to be tied to himself, so tied up in vows and obligations he’d make a poor partner for anyone, let alone the white haired warrior, whose lean form and deep eyes could attract any bedfellow he wished. It would be unfair to persist, Fenris too intimate for a chaste relationship, and too tempting besides.

He gave a deep sigh as he drew back the arrow.  
Fenris sighed also, as the wood hit upon his skin, but _his_ was one of relief, of a promise fulfilled.

The skin coloured quickly, the line at an angle across the shoulderblade, the sound still echoing in Sebastian’s ears, jarring. He struck again, letting the arrow follow through, the transferred energy causing Fenris to rock upon his feet. The third overlapped one of the pervious, his non-dominant hand lacking the control to properly aim the arrow, and Fenris made a low moan that seemed to fill the room. It was a call of sensation sharp and hot and of rushing blood and pounding heart. The noise drove Sebastian to continue, and he started to flick his wrist at the end of each blow, letting the shaft dig just a little deeper into the flesh.

Each time, he let Fenris recover his footing, and listened closely for any word to cease. Fenris was silent, save for the occasional moan or panted breath, and held his stance, allowing Sebastian to strike wherever he chose. 

He looked upon the back before him, symmetrical lyrium marred by angry red lines, and then turned the arrow over, touching feathers to the blazing skin.

“Ah!” Fenris arched from the quills, surprised, then, clicking his teeth together with determination, shifted backwards so that Sebastian could feel Fenris press against the arrowtip. The prince brushed slowly, rhythmically, over the same spot, to allow Fenris to get used to the sensation, and find whether he wanted more or not. 

Sebastian took the resulting soft ‘Uh’ that followed, and the fact that Fenris lent into the feathers rather than writhe away as sign it was permissible to proceed. He brushed and stroked till Fenris shifted on his feet, inpatient, and then brought the arrow down sharply upon his hip, well to the side to avoid his delicate parts, which were flushed with blood and jutting out from his groin urgently.

Then, the feathers again, tracing the welt forming, and Fenris was lost, head rolled back into the cup of his hands, chest heaving to draw breath.

Sebastian alternated stinging strikes with gentle strokes, and soon Fenris was trembling, his cock stiff and his eyes fluttering. When it seemed his legs would surely give out from under him he managed to grind out the words: “Finish it. Please.”

When Sebastian continued to map out the red pathways crisscrossing Fenris’s back with the tuff of feathers, now damp with sweat, the elf gave a hiss of frustration.

The archer mused over the idea of forsaking his care and control, and using the arrow as he had the cane to bring Fenris to completion, as it seemed to be what Fenris wished. As he raised the arrow above his head, to lay in fast and hard into the elf, he was suddenly put in mind of a memory, long since put aside.

_Back a lifetime ago, in Starkhaven castle, there had been a particular dog that Sebastian had grown fond of. She’d been no mabari, but a great wolfish breed, large and shaggy and excellent to have by your side during a hunt. There had been many dogs in the kennels, but this one, fur the colour of Antivan coffee, had a sharp intelligence and a fierce set of jaws, and Sebastian had much preferred her company to the more tame animals, their wits dull as practice blades._

_She was not a beast you could pet, nor have sit by your feet in front of a fire, and if she was hungry, she would not relinquish the captured rabbit, hare or pheasant. After a couple of attempts to train her to give up her catch for the hunting basket, Sebastian had been forced to give up and accept her nature._

_He’d walk with her, escaping the bowing nobles and cowering servants of the castle grounds, and take pleasure in the open woods, and blissful lack of titles and expectations. The dog, which had no name for one did not name your hunting hounds, would bark when she saw Sebastian approach the kennels, a short noise, more a greeting than an attention seeking measure. Through the walks, and the fact Sebastian would make sure that she always got a fair share of their hunted bounty, she came to respect Sebastian as he her. It became his habit to collect her and go out whenever he could, excusing himself from the drudgery of meetings and elaborate etiquette of court, just him and his companion._

_Sometimes, they’d not even try to hunt game, instead journeying out as far as the young Sebastian had dared, touching a freedom he knew was forbidden to him. He’d spent many days out, bow and dog, and content._

_One day though, he had been on the way home after a successful hunt, a brace of rabbits and a pair of small fowl at his side, when the dog had placed her paw on a shard of broken clay hidden in the grass by the path, and the sliver had dug deep into the pad of her foot._

_She had snarled, and limped, and Sebastian had been unable to get the sharpness out. It had taken hours, and the sky was dark, but Sebastian had managed to coax the dog back to the castle, where he thought hot water and the kennel master’s expertise might fare better than his unskilled hands. The animal had suffered, he had seen it in every step, and the pain must had been too much, for when approached by the haggard old kennel master (who had trembled more at the sight of the prince than the dog), she had snapped. It had not been a bad bite, but the man had bled, and Sebastian’s father had declared the animal unsafe for a prince._

_Sebastian though, stupid and stubborn, had refused to leave the animal behind on his hunts, and through his careless attempts to sneak, been caught with the dog. His father, angered at being defied, had then said that the dog must be destroyed._

_Sebastian, guilty that his selfish actions had doomed the animal, had ran, dog chasing his heels. He thought, though to this day was not sure, that the kennel master had led the guard sent after him the wrong direction. Once far out beyond the castle walls, he had tried to get the dog to leave, to go to the forest. She was a good dog, a clever dog and could hunt for herself and would have made a fine hidden defence for the castle against intruders. But she was loyal, too loyal, and could not know that to stay would spell her destruction. In the end, Sebastian had taken his bow, and swatted it solidly against the animal’s flank. The dog yipped in pain and surprise, and moving out the way of the blows, confused. She had lingered, hopeful that Sebastian might put away the bow, but the prince had struck out again. Wary now, the dog had circled round, and with a thin sheen of water in his eyes, Sebastian had chased her away, the dog taking to her paws rather than stay for further pain. The prince had returned alone, and had not seen the dog again._

_Sebastian had lost his taste for hunting that day, and turned to the city, and the taverns to amuse himself, and therein started his decent into debauchery._

The idea of striking Fenris, whom he too was going to force from him, as a parting gesture, reminded him too much of his last memories of the dog, the animal’s wounded eyes searing into his soul.

Steading himself against the painful recollection, Sebastian knelt by the quivering body, heat rolling off gleaming skin and lyrium swirls.

He brought the arrow to his mouth, and with a long sweep on his tongue licked along the shaft of the weapon. He could taste the sweat on the wood, and he was close enough to Fenris’s hips that he could _smell_ the elf, all heady musk and lyrium. He could almost pretend he was lapping at flesh, rather than sanded wood, and he was sure Fenris would be able to feel his raspy breaths against his skin. A soft sigh escaped the archer, the scent and experience of being so very close intoxicating, and he was aware of Fenris bending his head to see what he was up to.

Blue eyes met green, and Sebastian made further show of wetting the arrow, his tongue almost laughably lewd as he slicked up and down the length of the arrow, eyes fixed upwards. When he was satisfied that the wood would slide rather than cause friction, he settled himself so his rear rested on his heels, and brushed the feathered tip up Fenris’s full cock.

Fenris dropped his hands, and utter a low ‘mmmmm’ of approval, as Sebastian delicately stroked down and back up again, before grasping the other end in his free hand. He sat before Fenris, and positioned his hands, still holding the arrow, either side of Fenris’s groin, and _rolled_ the arrow up the underside of the engorged member. 

Fenris’s hips shuddered, and Sebastian repeated the gesture, this time applying more pressure, checking to make sure the wood spun smoothly, rather than drag across the darkened sensitive skin.

The effect was… pleasing. Fenris seemed unable to keep his eyes focused, and he struggled to keep his hips still, as Sebastian switched back to the feather tip, tracing the curve of the head, down to the base of the shaft and curling round the root. 

The sounds above him turned guttural, needy, and Fenris spasmed and spurted, as Sebastian pushed back against the stiffness in the cock. He could smell the release, and then, as it cooled, found a small splatter had landed upon his cheek.

Without thinking he flicked his tongue out to lick it off, and the tang of the seed seemed to perfectly mirror his mood, sour and bitter. He savoured it, the sharpness making him all the more aware of the room, and Fenris, whose shoulders sagged in a way that told of a release more than physical.

He got to his feet, leaving the arrow upon the floor, and stood, a little too close to Fenris. The elf backed away, moving to a chair to save his legs, which seemed to have lost their strength. He touched upon the welts on his back, testing them, and decided that he would be most comfortable sitting forward.

“I’ll… I’ll go get dressed. Shall I bring through your own armour?”

“Hmmm, yes… the humidity of the washroom may warp the leather….” Fenris’s voice was hazy, and Sebastian envied the elf his obvious contentment. He gave a nod, and went to the wash room, the fires under the bath still burning and making the water steam. 

*****

His fingers seemed slow to fasten the buckles and ties of his clothes, and he put it down to his overall reluctance to have the inevitable conversation that awaited him in the main hall. His body seemed heavy, and his chest tight, as he finally pulled a loose tunic over his head. Slower than befitted a rogue of his calibre, he gathered Fenris’s various bits of armour, some of which were spikey, and dug into his forearms as he left the washroom. He made sure not to leave any of his own possessions behind, just in case he had to make a hasty retreat should Fenris not take the news well. 

One look, at Fenris curled with a robe draped over his lap, reassured the prince that he had not only succeeded in granting Fenris an enjoyable evening, but also ensured that the elf was less likely to try and remove his heart, given the wide soft smile, and sparkling eyes.

Oddly, a second chair had been dragged by the fire, much closer to Fenris’s than the elf usually allowed. Sebastian placed the armour down on the ground, no stand available to hang it from, and took the chair, sitting on the edge, though he had no need to keep the weight from _his_ back.

It was good that Fenris seemed more at ease, and it warmed Sebastian more than the nearby fire to see the elf smiling. He matched it, and for the first time that evening, it did not feel forced.

“I perhaps should have asked earlier, but you did such a fine job of distracting me…” began Fenris, his voice light and jovial, but to Sebastian his words stung, as the elf inadvertently stumbled upon Sebastian’s plot to draw Fenris’s attention from the almost-confession of feelings. The prince turned his head to listen, and tried not to let his smile fade from his face. Fenris continued; “How is your chest? If you do not mind me asking, of course…”

“Ack, nothing to worry about. All I need is a good night’s sleep, and I’ll be right as rain.”

“Hmmm. At any rate, I have been thinking…” Fenris continued, eyeing Sebastian sceptically, as if he did not quite believe Sebastian’s tolerance for the pain, “that you have had a rather poor run of luck of late. I would suggest that the next time Hawke comes round with some idea to go exploring some forsaken hole in the ground, you tell him you’d rather eat a raw nug.” 

“It is funny you should mention that … I have actually been thinking of curtailing my adventuring, before I lose something vital.” He gave a grin through clenched teeth, hoping his humour might soften the words. It was wise to tackle the issue piece by piece, he decided, so that he could gage how Fenris took the news. He could see how Fenris reacted to the idea of him choosing the chantry over the near endless battles he fought with when in Hawke’s company, and judge whether Fenris would be accepting of Sebastian’s decision not to see him anymore. He watched, and waited, as Fenris took in the information.

Fenris frowned, and concern radiated from his green eyes. “Is it because you were hurt so badly?”

“No. Though I’ll certainly admit the injury gave me time to think. I do believe I would serve the Maker better _within_ the chantry walls, rather than gallivanting round the countryside. I still have the freed slaves to get home, and Elthina has much too much to manage on her own. I have a duty, and I have been somewhat remiss in my obligations.”

The expression held by the elf relaxed, as though Fenris might have been afraid that Sebastian had been so gravely wounded as to make him shy from the fights and scuffles that had become part of day-to-day life when you were friends with the champion of Kirkwall. He gave a sage nod, “I understand, you must do what you think is right. The chantry means a lot to you, and you help many people, I’m sure Hawke will respect your decision.”

Sebastian breathed deep, but the air in the room suddenly seemed thin, and he frowned as he struggled to draw enough air into his lungs.

“Is something the matter?” Fenris had brought a hand out, to carefully rest upon the arm of Sebastian’s chair. Sebastian dismissed it with a wave, shaking his head and spreading his lips wide into a smile.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not.” Fenris did not move his hand, and his tone was firm.

That gave Sebastian cause to pause, and regard Fenris closely. It had been too long since anyone had gotten close enough to be able to see past his masks and deceptions, and it unnerved him that Fenris had managed to see _him_. He considered a further lie, covering himself and telling Fenris he was mistaken, but for all his various veils and tricks, he felt, no _knew_ that Fenris deserved the truth.

“There... there _is_ something else.” He could not look, and so watched the fire crackle and burn, and spoke with his eyes diverted from the elf. “I plan to better adhere to my responsibilities at the chantry… and this includes respecting my vows. I… have been lax in honouring them, and feel I ought to correct this.”

Fenris’s face fell, and his bottom lip hung open. “…You mean to bring an end to … this…” he gestured weakly, at the room where they’d both found pleasure and release, and each other. Sebastian nodded, slowly, then brought his face up, his high-blood demanding that he at least look Fenris in the eye as he vandalised the friendship he’d come to cherish so much.

“It is through no error on your part.” He offered, as small consolation, “It was my fault I strayed from my oaths, but... for what it is worth, I have very much enjoyed straying... with you.”

Worse than thrown objects of retaliation, worse than tears, was the way Fenris’s face tightened, expression guarded and defences up.

“I see.” Curt, and so sharp it would put Hawke’s daggers to shame. Sebastian winced, knowing he deserved it.

The elf did not plead, nor beg Sebastian to change his mind, his pride too strong for such things. His eyes, however, held no such qualms. They shone at Sebastian, hopeful, heartbreaking, till Sebastian could no longer stand it. 

“I think I’d better take my leave.”

Fenris said nothing, but his hand clenched upon the arm of Sebastian’s chair, the strain evident in the slight tremble of muscles and tendon. Sebastian stood, and the chair scrapped against the stone floor. With heavy footfalls, he walked from the fireplace, and Fenris, stopping at the doorframe and trying to resist looking back. He could not help himself, and let his eyes settle one last time on a white-haired figure, curled into a chair, gazing back at him with sad green eyes.

****************************

Sebastian had not slept well, and after he had spilled two cups of tea, and accidentally muddled the hymn sheets for the day, Elthina, with an exasperated air, sent him out to the square in front of the chantry, to check that no sordid or otherwise inappropriate notices had been posted to the chantry notice board. 

The letters of the messages seemed to swim before him, and Sebastian had to stare long and hard before deciding that the few scribbled notes were genuine. As he turned to go back up the stairs, he did not at first recognise the figure garbed in plain trousers and a dark brown overshirt, lurking in the shadows on the surrounding walls. He paused, and turned to better look over the man who appeared to be watching him.

“….Anders?” The sight of the healer was not welcome, he had much too much to think on, without the apostate mage shuffling round the courtyard. 

“Well that sodding well tears it. Is there a point to dressing up in some likely lice-infested grab when you’re only going to go and shout my name to the whole city?” Anders gave a sigh, and brushed his hair, which hung loose around his head, from his eyes. 

“I… apologise.” And in truth, Sebastian was sorry that Anders had so much fear that he regarded the chantry as more dangerous than Dalish camps or smuggler’s secret caves. He straightened, “To what do I owe this visit?”

“Just checking in on my most popular patient at the moment. Really, can’t take you anywhere without you doing yourself an injury. I brought some salve, for the pain… Don’t you try to weasel out of it, I know that type of wound, and I’ll bet it is ‘nippy’.”

The word nippy, that he only had cause to use once or twice, was definitely a Starkhaven term, and Sebastian smiled a little at Anders’s mimic of his accent. He took the offered bottle, and tucked it in his armour, the habit of putting the pieces of metal of too much ingrained to switch so easily for the standard chantry robes.

“I am sorry I cannot do more. Perhaps, if you were to drop by the clinic…?” Anders quietly said, wary of the passers-by that might overhear.

“Not necessary, but thanks all the same.”

Anders shrugged, and Sebastian saw how tired the healer looked, dark skin gathered round his eyes, more than just a simple restless night might merit.

“I… wanted to thank you for your note. Bodahn brought it in this morning, and it was signed with an F but I recognised your handwriting. Still, it was thoughtful of you to try and apologise on Fenris’s behalf…. Though I doubt he’d appreciate your efforts much---“

“His words, I only wrote them down.” Sebastian interrupted, and knew his voice to be too sharp. He watched as Anders’s brows rose in response, and was quietly glad Fenris had used the letter.

“Really? That is… a surprise….” 

When Sebastian said nothing to explain or elaborate, Anders scratched the back of his neck, looking nervously around, then back to the archer.  
“Thanks all the same then. Also, Hawke is calling for you…. He is collecting able bodies for a trip to the bone pit…”

The bone pit, and the high dragon that _had_ lurked within, made Sebastian give Anders an incredulous glance. Anders threw up his hands; “I know, I know, and I don’t much blame you for not wanting to go back. That beast took a fair chunk from you, and I know I’d certainly not be so quick to skip back into such a place. I’ll let Hawke know.”

“If you could inform Hawke I am no longer available for any of his… ventures….”

Anders raised an eyebrow, and took a half step closer, questioning the statement.

“Much as I have enjoyed being stabbed and clawed and chewed on by all manner of beasts, I feel I ought to focus my attentions of the needs of the chantry. I am needed here, and Hawke has all manner of other able allies he can call upon to help him.”

“So… you’re going to be _here_ from now on…?” Anders’s face was… fearful, but the expression seemed misplaced, so Sebastian put it down to the pair of Templar crossing the doorway behind him.

“Mostly, yes.”

“You… could come on some excursions surely….?” There was an odd whine to the mage’s voice, almost a plea. Sebastian crossed his arms, and gave a firm shake of his head. If Fenris with all his allure and temptation could not sway him, the scruffy almost-abomination certainly would not.

“…. I shall let Hawke know. We’ll… miss you, you know. You’re a good man, and I’d hate for you to be caught up – I mean cooped up in here all day long…”

Sebastian looked behind him, at the magnificent chantry building, towers stretching towards the sky like hands raised in praise. “It’s not a cage.” He said quietly and shot the apostate a solid glare. Anders nodded unhappily. 

“As you will… clinic’s always open to you should you ever have the need…. Goodbye Sebastian.”

There was something strangely final about Anders’s tone, but then, without Hawke to drag him from the chantry, or see him wounded enough to need a healer, Sebastian supposed he’d not have cause to come in contact with Anders. He gave a small nod of thanks for the salve, and the all incidental healing he’d been received over the last years, as Anders left. Anders did not smile as he walked away, and soon Sebastian was left alone in the square in front of the chantry.

He gave the notice board a last, distracted glance, then headed up the stairway. The large ornate doors stood before him, and he pushed his way in, closing the heavy wood behind him, the sound of ancient wood upon stone louder than any prison cell door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear not, there is a chapter 8


	8. Chapter 8

It had been a week, and Sebastian had quickly settled into a routine in the chantry. Some of the tasks had been asked of him by the high cleric, others he had simply taken on upon himself, and though they were mostly undemanding, they filled his day from sunrise to sunset.

He rose slowly, the barest gleam of sunlight marking the start of his day. After a brief wash in cold water, he set about putting on his armour. Habit, and an unfortunate encounter out in the streets whilst out on his own had kept him in his white and gold plate, rather than the more traditional robes of the chantry. The incident, where a low-life had taken it into his head to demand money from the archer, had seen a single loosed arrow, shot just a fraction over the offending ruffian’s head and had promptly settled the matter. Still, it marked the mood of Kirkwall; on edge, and just a little too dangerous to be wandering around without protection.

Dressed, Sebastian set out for the main alter, and before anyone else came to pray, and used his dagger to remove the dribbled and pooled wax from the layered surfaces. It sometimes took an age to carefully chip away the thick layer that built up day after day without taking the gold leaf paintwork with it, but this time the wax came away easily. He did however, apply the tip of his blade to pick out any pieces of brunt wick or ash, and gather the chunks of wax in a basket. This, he deposited by sister Denra’s quarters, who would melt it down to make fresh candles when she woke as part of her daily chores. 

Alter refreshed and renewed, he began his morning prayers, lighting the first candle to focus his attentions. Sebastian found he quite liked to be the first one there, the great hall more peaceful when it was just himself and his thoughts and thanks to the Maker, his single flame burning bright.

By the time patrons of the chantry had started to filter through the great doors, Sebastian was usually nearing the end of his prayers. He had listened, once or twice as he walked past, and been surprised to hear Hawke feature in the occasional prayer of the city folk, both as part of the list of things they were thankful for, and the people they asked the Maker to watch and guide. That day was no exception, and he heard an elderly gent mention Hawke in tones of great reverence.

Sebastian and Hawke had conducted a conversation on the subject of the Maker, and it had been rather short. “The Maker,” Hawke had declared, “can kiss my hairy ass. Damned deity never did a thing for me, and the chant of light bores me to tears.” Hawke had then drank some of the hanged man’s questionable as-yet unidentified spirit, raising the nearly clean glass to Sebastian in a mock toast, and fixing the prince with a hard glare that pronounced the discussion over. 

Sebastian smiled to himself at the gent’s words, decided that the irony might be lost on Hawke and so would not share this particular piece of information. His smile continued as he moved on into the kitchen, already started to come to life in a cacophony of clattering pots and pans.

The freed slaves had established their own routine, and were well settled inside the walls of the chantry, but Sebastian liked to go and check in on them. It pleased him to ensure that they were in good health and good spirits. He found two of the older ladies, who had been brought along by the slavers not for any skills they might possess, but to keep the others in check, making a thin stew and flat bread. Their hands were slow, and curled into tight fists, but they were cheerful, and chatted incessantly to the archer. After the usual greetings and well wishes had been given, one of the ladies beckoned Sebastian aside, making a show of washing some lentils to mask her words, her time in captivity making her overly nervous and fearful. She mentioned one of the younger girls, who had found work in the town, had been seeming a little down of late, and asked if Sebastian would not mind paying a call upon her employer. With a nod, Sebastian promised he’d look into it, catching the hint of something possibly sinister afoot, more than just an old woman’s paranoia. 

Then, after having to pry the hands of a different lady from his arm, where she seemed keen to keep it all day if permitted, Sebastian checked in on the preparations to get the small mass of ex-slaves to their rightful home. They’d pooled their money, spending only what they had to on food (which they shared with the chantry brothers and sisters as payment for the roof over their heads, and the safety of the chantry), and had managed to barter passage on a ship leaving for their homelands at the end of the week. They’d worked hard, and had the coin to pay for their travel and provisions, and Sebastian would be sorry to see them go, their foreign songs and tales, and good natures had been a source of joy, and he was glad to spend time with them. 

It might have helped that they all knew him to be partly responsible for their rescue from the slavers, and so always had smiles and compliments ready for him, but all the same, they were good people, and Sebastian was pleased to see the excitement at the prospect of returning home built as the day of their departure drew near.

By then the stew was finished, and he took a small helping, as well as two extra bowls. Sebastian had taken it upon himself to save two portions of lunch for the tranquil stall holders who manned the magical wares just outside the gallows. Whether Meredith was working their Templar keepers so hard that they simply sometimes forgot to ensure that their charges received regular meals, or if there was something more malicious at work, Sebastian could not tell. And it was no longer his place to investigate, especially since the Templars were the warriors of the chantry, to question them would be akin to questioning the high cleric. 

Anyway, there were people like Hawke to challenge and fight for the wrongs of the world. His place, was to trust in the Maker, and that all His servants were loyal and true. Sebastian might have alerted Hawke to the problem, but knew that should Hawke get involved, no doubt there would be accusations, and Anders whingeing about Templars, and Fenris huffing about mages, and Aveline demanding city guards be allowed jurisdiction inside the chantry and gallows, and a whole lot of commotion besides that would not serve to do anything but disrupt the delicate peace of the chantry. No, much simpler was to bring the tranquil their share of the meal, and say nothing of Templars. Elthina had more important things to worry about.

Sebastian placed the bowls down, and collected the empty one from yesterday, but left quickly, before the tranquil could speak to him in those eerie, dead voices.

After lunch he collected his bow and arrows and heading into the city, intend on checking in on the freed slave girl. It had been he had feared, and he came into the tailor’s to a terrible amount of shouting. He had coughed politely in the doorway, and pointed out that language such as ‘slaver-slut’ was not entirely appropriate. It had been secretly gratifying to see the man turn round and blanch as he took in Sebastian in his full plate, with one hand curled around his bow, the other tapping an arrow thoughtfully against his thigh. The man mumbled an apology, and Sebastian had suggested that the girl had done some fine work, and wasn’t she perhaps due a day off, with a full day’s pay.

He escorted the girl back to the chantry, fending off her over-the-top advances with as much patience as he was able. Someone had let slip about his royal heritage, and it seemed the girl was willing to try and make a princess out of herself. She was attractive, Sebastian supposed, but young, and spoke in soft simpering tones, changing her opinion every second sentence to suit his. 

Gently, he wished her good day, and made for the safety of his own chamber.

There, he removed his bracers, and greaves and breastplate, then took himself to the courtyard, where he used the water pump to refresh the greenery there. Every day he’d worked the garden, and the hard labour of fetching water felt good, his strength more than that of the regular chantry brothers and sisters, and the Templar much too busy to tend to mere plants. His armour though, he’d found too cumbersome, and the pail of water did not put up so much of a fight as to need the heavy protective metal. 

It was nice, Sebastian reflected, to have the time and the space to be something than an armoured archer, and the plants did not care about his bloodlines. He liked the courtyard, it held a peace that seemed to be lacking throughout the rest of Kirkwall. He knew though, that he dared not linger, for there, as his eyes passed over the section where he’d first made a move to pursue Fenris, and there, where the two of them had knelt together, and there, where he’d held the elf as he reached climax, he felt his peace dissipate, only to be left with a stale, cold taste in his mouth. He got up hurriedly and moved onto his next job of the day.

Taking a scrubbing brush to the tiles of the washroom was perhaps not the most dignified task for a prince of Starkhaven, but the act of dipping rough brush into cold water, and scouring it across the surfaces and floor kept his mind from things Sebastian did not wish to think about. Cleansing, in more ways than one, Sebastian did more than his fair share of cleaning the kitchens, washrooms and mass of dirtied dishes left over from mealtimes. 

It was Sister Dalphine, an older member who had been at the chantry for years, who reminded him to take his own evening meal, as she had done yesterday and the day before. She made a quiet compliment of how clean the place was, and wondered alone if Sebastian was not working himself too hard. He flashed his winning smile, the one that could disarm the most intense scrutiny, and said that he was pleased to help where he could. 

The evening meal, again made by the freed slaves, the kitchens too cramped to have the usual chantry brothers and sisters working to prepare and cook the food as well, had some meat in it. Stringy, and lean, but meat all the same, and Sebastian relished the flavour. Wine, watered down so much it bordered on dangerous without the alcohol content to kill off the sicknesses that could lurk in the liquid, accompanied the meal. A jug was passed round, to fill the simple clay mugs, and Sebastian was glad it was not from a glass bottle, for that would only remind him of real wine… and Fenris. 

He did not stay to chat with his brother and sisters, instead saying he would use the daylight before it dimmed. 

Not everyone could read or write, and so Sebastian had started to frequent the chantry notice board. Sometimes he had to take a candle, to better see the scrawled pleas and messages, but today there was light enough to read. 

Twice he’d taken down what he could only assume was a poor jest by Isabella, requesting services of an urgent and intimate nature, involving a pair of manacles, two training swords and a flask of ginger wine, signed ‘Aveline’. The language used would make the guard captain furious, and Isabella likely end up in a cell, so Sebastian had quietly removed the notes, and said no more about the matter. He’d also had to remove a copy of Anders’s manifesto, and after trying valiantly to read the disjoined arguments and goals of the mage, had been forced to crumple the pages and place them in one of the braziers to be lit and burned come nightfall. 

Lastly, he looked for requests that seemed dangerous, or at the very least, risky. These he saved back for Hawke, being the only man he knew who could safely tackle such tasks, but so far Sebastian had not yet gathered the courage to go and visit the champion of Kirkwall to deliver the notes.

Being able to read and write had others uses, and at Elthina’s request, he spent his evenings when not assisting with her sermons, distributing the chant of light. He made his way to the chambers where the chantry’s copy of the chant was stored, and by candlelight, great sheets of parchment were meticulously filled with the chant, painstakingly copied word for word. 

He’d been at the chantry a week, and every evening had been spend with quill in hand, still only managed to halfway finish a copy. The paper and words were too precious to mar by carelessness, so when he felt his eyes droop and attention wander he forced himself to put aside the ink and pen, and head towards his chambers and waiting cot.

By time the sun set, Sebastian was tired, a weariness to his bones. He accomplished much in his time in the chantry, and ought to have been filled with satisfaction at his good work. Despite this, and though he was loathe to admit it, he was bored out of his mind.

*****

The next day, after dealing with candles and little excitable old ladies, Sebastian found Varric waiting for him, as he took the tranquil their lunches. He found it hard not to burst into a wide grin at the sight of the dwarf, who was nodding in approval as the prince set down the bowls by the stall. Sebastian left the tranquil to their meals, and walked over, fighting to keep his steps formal and unhurried.

“Varric, it is good to see you.”

“I’ll bet it is.” The dwarf had a knowing curl to his lips, and he leant himself against the wall, not even trying to stand tall as Sebastian towered over him. “So, Choir Boy. How are you?”

“I am well.” Sebastian took too long in answering, he knew, but he had to check himself before admitting that he was bored, and lonely. Varric could be like the finest Antivan brandy, something in his easy-going manner encouraging loose tongues and free speech. It was a fine gift for a storyteller, but dangerous for those who did not want their personal feelings known.

Varric tipped his chin, as if urging Sebastian for a more honest answer, and when Sebastian said no more, tsk’d to himself.

“Hawke says you’ve chickened out from the rough and tumble of following him to all ends. Now, I said that to be a piece of nonsense, that Choir Boy’s no coward, but here you are, hiding away behind solid chantry walls and letting your bowstring grow loose. What gives?”

The tone, and the lack of small talk from the dwarf, alerted to Sebastian that Varric had a goal in mind in meeting with him. Though he doubted that the dwarf would mean him any harm, he was made wary of the intention behind the seemingly causal encounter, and made note to watch his own words carefully. 

“I decided to take my pledge to the service of the Maker more seriously….” Sebastian was not sure what Hawke had told Varric, but could be certain that Varric knew more than he was letting on. That he knew Sebastian’s habit at lunchtimes more than attested to that.

“So I see. Prayer and duty and such, all fine and well. Still, you could come round to the Hanged Man, or pepper the odd blood mage with your arrows from time to time surely?”

“I… no. My place is here.” It was tempting, that he might venture out every now and again to break up the monotony of chantry existence, and that if he was honest, he’d face another high dragon just for a chance to get out beyond the painful quietness of the walls and tombs of the chantry. Then there was the chance that if he were to join Hawke on one of his missions, or even for just a simple chat at the hanged man, that Fenris might be there… and that was an altogether different temptation, and much harder to resist. No, much easier, to avoid all possible contact with the elf, for both their sakes.

Varric’s eyes turned stern, and he crossed his arms. “Cowardice does not suit you.”

Sebastian tried not to let the words sting him, but Varric was sharp, and too accurate in his observations. Instead he gave a weak shrug, as if the movement might dislodge the barded comment. 

Sebastian coughed, and straightened his already level chest plate, the armour useless against Varric’s cutting remark.

“I have some chantry board messages for Hawke. If you would be so kind as to wait while I fetch them….” He knew the change in topic was obvious, but was not prepared to try and defend himself against Varric’s statement. Not when he knew he _was_ taking the easy route, and that he might well had earned the title of ‘coward’.

“I’ve better things to do, to be honest.” Varric’s tone was carefully flippant, “ You ought to drop by the Hanged Man tonight, and deliver them yourself. Might be nice for you to catch up with everyone. I know a certain white-haired someone who has been missing your company for sure.” Sebastian could particularly taste the bait Varric was dangling, and steeled himself against asking after Fenris, though in truth he desperately wanted to know how the elf fared.

When Sebastian made no reply, Varric turned and made a show of musing to himself. “Not that it’s my place to say, but you should know that Rivaini’s been sniffing about Broody, you know what she can be like….”

When that too, failed to get a rise from the archer, Varric let his hands fall to his sides, and he looked at Sebastian, eyes serious and just a little sad. Strange to see, on a face normally so jovial. It alarmed Sebastian, and he almost didn’t ask. Curiosity, and concern, got the better of him;  
“Varric, what is it…?”

“He… is not doing so well…” Varric confessed, seemingly genuinely worried about Fenris. Sebastian flinched from the words, and the jolt must have jarred his ribs, because he suddenly felt his chest tighten. He rubbed his side, willing the ache from his wounds, which still flared up from time to time, to subside. Most often the pains occurred in the courtyard, after he’d overexerted himself carrying pails of water to and fro, but lately they’d been troubling him more and more. 

“Twice now, Hawke has gone round to call Fenris out to go kill some mages or slavers, and Broody hasn’t even opened the door.” Varric continued, after watching Sebastian’s attempts to ease the pain. “Serah Champion is not best impressed. Broody isn’t explaining himself, and so tensions are high in our little mis-mash group.  
“And don’t you bother trying to claim innocence over the whole thing either, because it won’t work on me. The timing is too much coincidence for it not to have something to do with your ‘grand calling’, and while I’d wish you all the best in your pious new life, you’ve left a bit of a mess behind. Whatever-it-is between you and the elf, things got a bit awkward, didn’t they? But that’s not to say you can’t fix it. It’ll be tricky, Broods is hiding in his mansion, and you’re playing at being a good little Choir Boy, when what you two really want is to get yourselves a room and thrash out whatever is the problem. Tricky, but so is fighting a high dragon.”

His face gave away nothing, and Sebastian kept his voice steady as he answered, “I believe Fenris and I can handle our own problems… without your ‘advice’.”

There was a pause, then Varric said: “You _might_ be able to… but with him I’m not so sure…” The sadness in Varric’s voice made Sebastian uncomfortable, and he swore he could feel the wound in his side flare up with a sudden pang of pain. 

When the archer made no move to say any more on the subject, nor take himself with all haste to Fenris’s mansion, Varric gave a firm shake of his head. “Listen, I can’t make you do anything, but… just don’t take too long in getting it sorted, all right? I was serious about Isabella. She’s smelt the blood in the water, and the woman is more like a shark than pirate when it comes to catching people when they are vulnerable and alone. She’s had her eye on the elf from the start.”

The pain in Sebastian’s side seemed to intensify, and he pressed a hand to it, the discomfort almost matching the unease that Varric’s words conjured in him. Varric must have caught the wince, because his face softened and he stopped looking quite so… _disappointed_.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Varric stated, and Sebastian almost scowled in response, his teeth tight against each other in an attempt to block out the pain.

“You know… when you get hit by an arrow, a proper hit, almost all the way through, you’ve got to push the shaft forwards before you can mend the wound.” Varric’s voice had taken on the lulling tones he used when telling a story, or recounting an adventure and Sebastian was puzzled as to the dwarf’s point in speaking about arrows when his injured side was the result of daggers and dragons. “Hurts like hell, and takes fair guts to do it yourself, but there is no other way. Less painful in the long run to deal it soon as you are able, rather than let it fester and rot. Usually, if you act quick enough, the arm, or leg, or whatever-it-is can be saved.”

While listening to Varric and rubbing his side, Sebastian realised his hand had strayed to just over his heart, and he removed it hastily. Varric’s eyes gleamed with a knowing twinkle, and he pushed off against the wall, brushing himself off. He took in Sebastian’s bunched eyebrows, and _grinned_.

“Anyway, I’ve surely taken enough of your time.”

He turned to go, and Sebastian followed, resisting the urge to turn the dwarf round and demand he stop being cryptic and so sodding snide about it.

“Wait. What as this” The prince gestured to his side, “to do with Fenris? Or arrows. Or you, for matter of fact?”

“Not much to do with me, I’m just a casual observer. But you, you’re an archer, Choir Boy, even if you are pretending to be a dull little disciple to the moment. Surely you can recognise cupid’s handiwork?” 

Sebastian froze, and had a brief notion to punch the dwarf in the face in an entirely un-princely or pious manner. That he might have such passing violent thoughts was alarming in itself, but to have Varric as the target, when he knew the dwarf to be a strong ally and better friend….

Sebastian had tolerate numerous japes and jest from Varric, along with Isabella, Hawke and even Anders pitching in, but never before had he come so close to losing his temper and temperament. There was something about the idea of himself being smitten that he did not want to hear, however ludicrous the concept. He was Sebastian, the rogue prince, too well practiced in the ways of courtship and desire to fall foul of _love_.

He would think the matter over, in the privacy of his own chambers, and meanwhile correct the dwarf’s mistaken assumption.

“You’ve missed your mark Varric.” His face hardened, voice pitched low, Sebastian strove to give every impression that the dwarf was in error.

Varric gave a good natured shrug in response, then, with a raised eyebrow that told Sebastian he had not managed to convince the dwarf against his observation, he lent in towards Sebastian. 

“Maybe. But I tell you, it’s been a long while since my aim was ever off.” On seeing Sebastian remain impassive, Varric raised a single hand in a gesture of farewell, “See you Choir Boy, I’ll tell Hawke to expect you at the Hanged Man sometime soon.” Then with more than a slight swagger to his step, Varric turned on his heel and walked away. 

As he watched the figure become distant, leaving his emotions in turmoil and a persistent nagging ache in his ribs, Sebastian reflected that perhaps there were worse things than being bored.

*****

By the time it came for Sebastian to sleep, he had decided upon why Varric had caused so disruption to his day.

He wasn’t in love, no, not him. Rather, he _couldn’t_ fall in love, his vows to the Maker and chantry preventing it. Though he had known and accepted this when he took his oaths, it was still a bitter pill to swallow. Some residual resentment at having to give his heart wholly to the Maker, and not to partake in any mortal affection, had surfaced, the dwarf inadvertently happening upon it while making his assumptions about Sebastian’s relationship with Fenris, and it was this that had caused his fist to clench.

Varric could not have known, and so Sebastian had asked the Maker to forgive the dwarf, and pledged when next he saw the storyteller, he’d set him straight, rather than let him continue to believe that Sebastian was afflicted by love.

Love. He’d heard the word often enough, but Sebastian thought himself too wise and to crafty to let himself be lulled by the sentiment. To be in love was to allow someone too close, to open yourself up for attack. He’d vowed long ago, when his father had taken him and his brothers aside and explained the dangers, that he’d not allow himself such folly.

Love could unmake a king, dull his wits and muddle his thinking, and his father had been most adamant that while fraternising and flirting were tolerable, declaring love for another was completely unacceptable. Kings, like chantry brothers, could not love, such things disrupted arranged marriages, and gave your enemies too tempting a target. Better then, to let the peasants and bards have their love, and for the Starkhaven princes stay as strong as a king ought to be.

Hard lessons, but Sebastian had learnt them well, and had seen the truth of his father’s words, in the tears of those who had professed to love him when he did not return their feelings. Each drop of saltwater had strengthened his resolve not to fall into the same trap himself. And he was rather good at spotting traps.

Which made it all more reasonable to brush off Varric’s words as a storyteller’s fancy, and that while the dwarf was usually sharp as an arrow point, in this he was mistaken.

Sebastian had not gone to Hanged Man, his self-reflection having taken up most of his day. _Probably just as well_ , he reasoned. Having heard that Fenris ‘wasn’t doing too well’, he’d have had to keep himself from staring at the elf, watching for signs of distress or unhappiness, and that would have only given the dwarf more cause to assume that the prince had more care for Fenris than he would for just a close friend.

Then, there was the worry of what he would see, should he look upon Fenris. Would he see the elf broken, his trust and faith in others shattered like a wine bottle thrown at a wall? Sebastian shook his head, even though there was no-one else to see save himself and the Maker. No, Fenris was too strong to let himself suffer so. He would return to his usual stoic and proud ways, and be out killing slavers with Hawke again in no time. 

Mayhap he’d even find happiness with Isabella. By all accounts the woman was skilled at the pleasurable arts, and Fenris deserved at least to have a bedpartner who would, -who _could_ \- touch him. 

As he tried to calm his mind with thoughts of how much happier Fenris would be with someone else, he was aware of a growing of unease. There was that ache again, burning cold under his skin, and Sebastian frowned. The salve Anders had supplied did little for the pain, and that the injury still caused him discomfort was just a little concerning. It had shifted from the usual sting of mending flesh, spreading to tightness in his chest, accompanied by feeling of nausea, and a sense of something hard and cold in his gut.

And it was getting worse. 

More frequent attacks, and more distracting, it was starting to look like something serious, that he might have to take a trip down to Darktown and see Anders about. Sebastian touched his fingertips to the site of his injuries, only to find that though sensitive, the scar tissue was not tender, nor painful.  
This time, he’d not moved his body so as to aggravate the wound, and he wondered at the cause.

No doubt Varric could call it lovesickness, or some other such romantic nonsense, and true, thinking of Fenris did seem to make the discomfort heighten. However, Sebastian had yet to hear a poem or story that described churning nausea or the feeling that one had just had a darkspawn jump out suddenly, in relation to thinking about the object of ones affections. 

More likely to be unspent desire, manifesting into physical discomfort. _Hardly fair_ , though Sebastian, as he strove to walk forwards into the Maker’s light, that his own body and mind were contriving to hold him back. 

For sake of trying to devote himself to the Maker, Sebastian decided he would have to suffer the pain, and hope that in time it eased. He’d pray more, and work harder, and distract himself from thoughts of Fenris and the sinful acts they’d committed together. 

After all, before he and Fenris had come into their arrangement, he’d managed to curb his sexual lustings. With prayer and the maker’s strength, he was sure he could achieve the same feat once more.

**********

The next few days saw Sebastian applying himself as never before. He feverishly worked to finalise the arrangements for the freed slaves, and after long hours that left his eyes stinging from straining to see by candlelight, he had finished his copy of the chant of light. Elthina herself had praised his neat script, and had rolled the parchment into a roll of leather, ready for a passing missionary to take to spread the chant to small cities and villages. When Sebastian mentioned that the freed peoples were returning home, to a land distant, Elthina gave a nod, and she had asked the freed slaves if they would wish to take Sebastian’s copy of the chant with them. They accepted readily, and promised that they would tell their homeland of the good work of the chantry and the Maker, and a man called Hawke.

When it came time for them to depart, Elthina and Sebastian went to the docks to wave them off. Sebastian had tried to get Elthina to remain behind, but the freed slaves had become too much a part of the chantry for her to not to want to bless their ship and wish them a safe and swift journey home. He brought his bow, but had found that when he went to string it, the bowstring had indeed become slack. Through disuse, and the careful stretch and release of regular bow practice, it was hardly surprising, and Sebastian cursed himself for letting his grandfather’s prized bow be neglected so. It had only taken a moment to fix the problem, but as his fingers worked to shorten the length of string, Sebastian was reminded of Varric, and the various comments of the astute dwarf. He’d not missed his target in knowing Sebastian’s bowstring would grow loose, and a small creeping doubt wondered if Sebastian had been too hasty to dismiss the rest of Varric’s comments as mere unfounded speculation.

He would have stopped, and given proper contemplation to this notion, but the ship was loading, and there was not the time to pause for deliberation. Bow restrung and armoured, Sebastian left his chambers, and met with the high cleric to escort her down with the freed slaves to their waiting voyage home.

In the end, Sebastian was grateful that Elthina had come to the docks, as the ship’s captain tried to at the last moment charge more coin from the freed slaves, but upon seeing the high cleric herself watching the proceedings, swallowed thickly and retracted his claims that the journey would be more expensive than previously quoted.

Once the ship had sailed, to cheers and waves and only a few puzzled dockhands at what all the commotion was about, Sebastian had guided Elthina back through the streets. He was distressed at her slow speed in traversing the more unsavoury parts of Kirkwall, and the amount of time she would spend talking with passing people, while out in the open and not aware of the danger.

As they walked at Elthina’s maddening pace, Sebastian did not talk, too busy was he keeping his eyes out for the gangs of roving bandits that plagued the area. Only when they’d reached the steps of the chantry, did he allow himself to relax, and had to admit, he was pleasantly surprised that nothing had happened. When with Hawke, he remembered not being able to round a single corner or cross an alleyway without an ambush of blood mages, or carta, or other such rabble of thugs. As if the man attracted the trouble, same as he collected admirers and allies.

Elthina looked upon her armoured escort, and gave a soft smile, and patted him gently on the arm. “I am wearied, I believe I shall take a short nap. Thank you for your assistance.” Elthina’s voice did seem tired, and the number of steps between the docks and chantry not inconsiderable. Sebastian gave a polite nod, then went to water the gardens.

He checked the soil, and found it neither too dry, not too damp, and so only a single pail of water was needed. Even then, the air was growing colder as autumn swept over the city, and more than a couple of the plants had started to die off. Leaves wilted, and dried out, and there were no more flowers. A little unhappy that no matter how hard he’d worked to keep the garden alive, winter would eventually claim it, Sebastian started to pluck the dead leaves, and cut back any bare branches to keep the garden looking as fresh and green as possible. That finished, Sebastian found himself clenching and unclenching his hands, lost for something to do, and decided that he’d sooth his aggravated mind with some cleaning chores.

Now the freed slaves were on their way home, the washrooms and kitchens needed less scrubbing, now that the sheer volume of muddy boots traipsing over the stone tiles had reduced. It took half the time to wash away the dust and dirt, and even then, Sebastian had still scrubbed hard enough that his wrists ached afterwards, and even the corners and doorframes were spotless.

There was no room in the kitchens for him, the chantry sisters having already reclaimed the workload and a large pot of soup bubbling over the firepit. 

After an unsuccessful attempt to clear the wax while the candles were still burning, which had resulted in hot wax spilling across his hand and making him clench his teeth against a particularly blasphemous curse, Sebastian walked back to his chambers.

The pile of chantry notices lay on the small table, that he used as a desk when the need arose. He flicked through the papers, thoughtfully wondering if he dared go to the Hanged Man to drop them off. 

Certainly, he had time enough, and he had done the Maker’s good work that day, and it did not seem unreasonable to allow himself a brief visit to his friends. He tapped a slender finger against his chin, and knew no matter what reasons and rationales he supplied, what he both wanted and feared, was to see Fenris. To have confirmation that the elf was as strong as he hoped, to see his face again, to see his smile.

Sebastian’s hand stilled as he went to collect the papers, and he let it drop to his side. If he _did_ see Fenris, and if the warrior did happen to let his humour touch his face, the elf’s smile would not be for him. Not after what he had done.

The thought was deeply depressing, and Sebastian spent the next hour on his knees before the altar, in prayer, and when that did not ease the frown from his face, nor the twinge in his ribs, he moved on and scrubbed the courtyard stones, till they looked like they had been newly laid.

He paid particular attention to the section of wall which once upon a time, had glistened with Fenris’s seed, even though the rain and wind had long since washed any evidence away. The memory though, lingered, and no matter what Sebastian tasked himself with, it seemed he could not scour the recollection nor the way it had made him feel so _alive_ from his mind. Instead, after hours scrubbing and sweeping and rinsing, he went to bed, his steps heavy and feeling dead inside.

**********

//Days passed, and soon Sebastian found himself underfoot and in the way more than he was helping. There was less work to be done, and although the stairs had never been so clean, the constant dripping water was hazardous for those wishing to use the steps and gain entry to the higher levels.

Likewise, the kitchen staff had run out of things to send for, and had politely pointed out the lack of room in the kitchens, and that Sebastian proved more a hindrance if he stood in the doorways, waiting for grocery lists that he’d long since collected and delivered. 

He’d tried to use his ample spare time to practice his bowmanship in the courtyard, till Elthina had mentioned that he was scaring off the more timid patrons to the chantry, given the fate that had befallen sister Petrice. 

He did not spend time in his quarters, the pile of notes, growing with each message removed from the chantry board, mocking his trepidation to go and witness the mess he’d made with Fenris. 

The notes _should_ be delivered to Hawke, but he was too much fearful of the reception he would receive if he were to visit the Hanged Man, so instead he left them upon the table, and only returned to his chambers to sleep in increasingly restless bouts.

Finally, after pacing in front of his door for the better part of the morning, Sebastian went to the garden courtyard for solace. He found Elthina there, looking over one of the more fragile bushes that were suffering now that summer had passed.

“Ah Sebastian, how much quieter it is without our guests… I hope they hasten home, before winter starts to make itself known.”

“Myself as well.”

Elthina peered at the prince, then beckoned him over to sit with her. “Sebastian, I fear you find yourself at a loose end, now that the freemen have returned homewards. You could start a new copy of the chant, your script is so neat and the words might sooth whatever-it-is that is troubling you.”

“I am not troubled.” Sebastian’s voice was weak, and he doubted Elthina would believe him. That the high cleric had noticed his restlessness was not surprising, he’d seen her watch him as he paced and cleaned and prayed, sometimes kneeling till his knees felt numb. He had been purposefully refraining from starting to copy the chant of light anew, as he felt his unease would not benefit the script, and he’d be likely to make errors. 

Elthina crossed her arms, “If not troubled, then unhappy. I do not profess to know the cause, but I can tell you are not content. I will not hold you to your oaths if you wish to follow a different path.”

“I said I would serve the Maker, and I mean to make good on that vow.” Sebastian knew his voice was too sharp, and while he was trying to make it the truth, his words sounded false, hollow.

The elderly woman sighed, and laced her hands together, as if in prayer. “Do you know why I made you take such vows? It was because when you came to me, you were selfish, and did not care for others, especially those you… ‘dallied’ with. It comes of being born a prince I suppose, and you could not help such, but while you made a poor prince, you’d have become a terrible person if allowed to continue as you were. The vows imposed upon you forced you to try and live righteously, and you have done this. More than that, you have done well, and have changed for the better. You are considerate towards others, for their sake, not just because so they would be more likely to do as you wish.”

Elthina took a breath, then pressed on; “The next step for you, is to be able to make your own choices, without the guidance of vows to restrict you. So, Sebastian, I hereby release you from the oaths that you have sworn, whether you want it or not. For your own good, you _will_ learn to forge your own path, and not depend on me to show you the way.”

Sebastian was stunned, and opened his mouth to protest when Elthina held up a hand to silence the prince.

“Do not try to tell me that you are happy here. These walls and altar may suit an old lady like me, but you are young, and skilled with your bow, and an heir besides. Same as the free men and woman had to leave for home, I do not think this is where you are meant to be. You are welcome to stay as long as you need, you have done marvellous work here, and I am pleased that you have put your past life behind you, but now it is time for you to find your future.”

“You think I should go back to Starkhaven?” 

“Were you not listening? I can not, and will not, tell you what to do with yourself.”

Rather than feel free, and unrestrained by his lifted vows, Sebastian felt lost. His frown deepened, and he found himself feeling like a plant in the pathway of winter, unable to stop the change of season, and fearing it might be the end of him.

The high cleric must have seen his distress, and touched a hand upon his, her thin frail fingers calming him.  
“This is not punishment, but a means to progress.”

Sebastian was quiet, and strangely reassured that he was not being sent away through anything he’d done wrong. 

He had older brothers, and it had always been assumed that the eldest would inherit the throne, and the second oldest take command of the armies. A third son was problematic, and though his parents had brought him up same as his brothers, it was always understood that when his father spoke of duty, it was a duty he was not expected to take on or understand. So, after a while, Sebastian found himself with no goal in life. Nothing, his father had taught, was more important than the duty to the crown and its peoples, but since Sebastian was told from his earliest days to not ever aspire to have such duty, he became an inconvenience, a loose end no-one quite knew what to do with. 

His goal became himself, and his own happiness. He had no peoples to look up to him, and the neighbouring princesses were already betrothed to his older siblings, so his bed was conveniently empty. A shallow existence, but it had occupied his time, and it was only when his oldest brother had been fully groomed for the role of king, that his father had investigated his left-over son and found Sebastian to be lacking.

He was sent to the chantry in an effort to give him meaning beyond the next sexual conquest or tankard of ale, and at the time he had been furious and foolish. It had felt too much like being swept under the rug, sent away so the great awkwardness of himself would be out of sight, and mind.

It had taken time, and untold patience granted by the Maker to his teachers, especially Elthina, but slowly he came to learn the gratification of listening to an old woman’s troubles, or helping a troubled man find peace in the words of the Chant. He’d come to know the strength of the Maker’s chosen, and seen that the chantry was a place of joy and goodness. 

Yet, lately he had been unfulfilled, and though he had tried to give his all to the service of the Maker, there was something missing.

As if she could see his thoughts, Elthina gave a warm smile, and held her hands out to the sunlight streaming down into the courtyard.  
“The Maker would want you to be happy, Sebastian.”

“I... I shall go and think on all you’ve said.”

“You do that.” Her voice was warm, gentle, but faintly patronising, as if Sebastian was a child and she the long suffering parent.

Sebastian rose to leave, and gave a stiff bow to the high cleric, before walking away. It would all be so much easier if he only knew _what_ would make him happy. 

****

He did not go to his chambers, the chantry notes left there would only sit and accuse him of his inaction, and his head felt too muddled to try and deal with them at the moment. And after scrubbing every available stone and tile, he felt like he’d seen enough of the chantry for the day, so he took to the streets.

These were not the streets of home; Starkhaven was built of granite, a darker stone, and more hard-wearing than the sandstone face of Kirkwall. Perhaps not the most pretty to behold, and it was true that the grey often matched the cloudy skies and near-constant rain, but there was strength to the citiy. The dull weather could not stop the music and laughter that came from the taverns and freehouses, and the peoples were honest and friendly, at least, they were to local princelings.

He missed his home, and the idea that he could return, not only as some surplus highblood, but as a rightful ruler was strange to consider. 

He would need help, certainly, but there would be no shortage of lords and councillors only too eager to assist him in adjusting to the throne, and he liked to think he’d make an average king at least. He may not have had the training of his brothers, but he’d watched his father sign decrees and negotiate trade agreements, and knew how to watch himself for assassination attacks and see through lies. 

Then, was that what he wanted, to be trapped within another set of stone walls? True, he might be able to do a lot of good sat upon a throne, but he had to admit, the idea of endless meetings and simpering councils and spending his days mediating disagreements about the price of fish seemed as appealing as scrubbing washrooms forevermore. No, let the distance cousin of who-ever-it-was have the Starkhaven crown, Sebastian would not be satisfied with the gold and jewelled circlet.

As he came to his conclusion, he felt lighter, as if there had been a weight he had not realised, like the heavy press of a crown upon his thoughts, constricting. He had not given proper time to the implications of the deaths of his father and brothers, and the duty they left behind. Instead, he had joined Hawke on any mission he was needed, and let the chantry fill the remainder of his time. He’d run from his responsibility, not realising that it bore down on him till the matter was resolved. He wished he had long ago dispelled the notion of taking the Starkhaven’s throne.

By the time his walk and revelation was complete, he’d almost come to the chantry stairs again. He felt confident, and focused as he’d not been since his family had been murdered.

He was surprised to see Hawke, standing there, occasionally walking up the first few steps purposefully, only to back away at the last moment. The champion of Kirkwall was not religious, but he had the look of someone needing guidance all the same. Sebastian wondered if it was the Maker’s hand that had led him to the champion, for Hawke was not the sort to seek platitudes from any scripture, no matter how wise, and the man could hardly sit still for a round of drinks, nevermind one of Elthina’s inspiring sermons.

Sebastian coughed, and Hawke spun round, hand clenched around a dagger before recognising the prince. Truly, the man was an exceptional rogue not to have picked up on Sebastian’s plated footsteps against stone, but the archer was pleased to see that Hawke had enough control to keep the blade in its sheaf, and not in his neck.

“Apologises. I did not mean to startle you.”

Hawke gave an embarrassed grunt at being caught off guard, and looked up the stairs, then back to Sebastian.

“May I be of assistance?”

“No… well, maybe. I want to talk with Elthina.”

An odd request, especially given that in past meetings, Hawke and Elthina had not exactly seen eye to eye. Sebastian shook his head. 

“She’ll be writing her sermon for tonight, and would not wish to be disturbed... Unless it was urgent….”

Hawke’s dark hair became a blur as he rapidly shook his head. “No, no, just wanted a word is all…. I’ll come back later…” his words were rushed, and he almost took a step to the side, as if to leave without further comment. Sebastian reached out, and laid a hand upon his elbow, holding him from making his getaway.

“She shouldn’t be too long, she is normally done before the evening meal. Actually, I have something for you in my own chambers, perhaps you could come and collect it, and we will wait for Elthina to finish.”

“Why Sebastian, inviting me into your bedroom? Rather forward of you, I think.” He smirked, and something in Hawke settled.

Sebastian gave an exasperated sigh, playing along as it seemed to be the sort of light, teasing banter that Hawke sought to calm him. His jests were part of his manner, and though his timing could be poor, it had to be said that there his constant quips in the face of any danger only added to the sense that the man was fearless. Now though, despite the smile dancing on his lips, Hawke looked tense.

“Nothing as exciting as bedroom antics I’m afraid. I have some chantry board messages I deemed too dangerous for anyone other than your good self to attempt. Will you look them over?”

For a moment, Sebastian was unsure if Hawke would agree, but then Hawke gave a nod, eyes still darting nervously, but the shuffle gone from his feet. Hand lifted from his dagger hilt too, but hovering as if ready to be armed and it was clear something preyed upon the man.

Sebastian led him through the courtyard, and to his chambers where he opened the door and gestured him inside. The door had no lock, and needed a fair push to prise it from the wooden doorframe, but as it shut, Hawke seemed to relax. He made a show of looking around the room, small as it was, but clean, and bright from the large window.

“You know, I think Gamlen’s shack might have actually been more spacious than this… then again, you had to share it with the rats. And those things were big enough to trip up over!”

Sebastian laughed politely, and passed the pile of papers finally into the right hands. Hawke flicked through them, plucking the ones that caught his interest out and scanning for the rewards offered. He snorted at one, and waved it at Sebastian.

“Reward: my ever-lasting gratitude…. I think not,” he put that note to the bottom of the pile, scowling at its insubstantial reward. Once he’d looked through all the messages, he passed a now substantially smaller pile back, keeping his selection for himself, “but I’ll see to these ones. Can’t persuade you to come out with me and the gang can I?”

Sebastian thought a moment, and gave a nod to his bow, resting peacefully against the wall by his bed.

“I would like that I think, I have not had much chance to practice, and I would hate to lose the skills I have developed.”

Hawke seemed surprised, and paused in folding the papers up in a thick wedge and stuffing them into his backpack. “That’s… good. And a bit of a change of tune. You told Anders, and Varric…”

“I know.” Sebastian hated to interrupt, but he did not particularly want to dwell on what the dwarf had said. “But if you still have need of me…?”

“Yes.” Hawke realised he’d been a little too fast to reply, and laughed at himself. “I mean, if it will not get me smite'd out my shoes by the Maker for stealing you away, I would be more than happy to have your bow by my side.”

Sebastian moved across the room, and sat himself on the bed, smiling and it feeling natural upon his face. He offered the chair to Hawke, who sat on it sideways, legs stretched out into what little space there was. Sebastian saw the way Hawke strove to seem relaxed and confident, and wondered what would have rattled the champion so. He’d seen Hawke charge a cluster of grenlock, and shout insults at a raging abomination (though in retrospect, claiming its mother had been a mutated nug had not gone down well with either the abomination or Anders).

“So…” Sebastian began, watching carefully for any hint as to Hawke’s distress, “how are things?”

“Oh you know… Varric is penning some epic dribble about me, and Aveline is threatening to lock me up for not completing the right paperwork for slaying an entire cult of blood thralls. Merrill is cross I will not help her with that damnable mirror, and Meredith and Orsino seem to be having a grand old time sending me back and forth the city on their whim. At least Fenris and Isabella seem to have reached some sort of accord…”

Sebastian felt his throat close and heart start to pound painfully, and had to force himself to move on beyond the mention of the elf to analyse the rest of Hawke’s reply. His eyebrows rose when he realised Hawke had not mentioned a certain healer.

“And Anders…?” he prompted.

Hawke sighed, and gave Sebastian a shrug. “He… I don’t know anymore. He’d always writing his manifesto, or locking himself in the backrooms of his clinic. When he does come to the estate, he’d exhausted, and I can’t make him take a day off for him… for _us_. It has been an age since he’s been in the mood for… you know…” Hawke trailed off, and broke eye contact, fussing over the hem of his collar. 

“It’s… frustrating… I feel like I’m losing him to Justice, and there’s not a blighted thing I can do about it. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him...”

Hawke took a deep breath, and squeezed his hands together. “I think... that’s why I was so hard on Fenris… in the sewers… I saw him grab Anders, and I couldn’t think straight. All I could do was do whatever it took to protect him. But it’s just not enough anymore. I can protect him from demons and dragons, everything, but somehow I can’t save him from himself.”

No quips, or smirks, there was just Hawke, sitting there and looking rather lost. Sebastian bent his head and said, softly,  
“You still love him though.”

He saw the champion struggle with a smile, before it spread across his face, easing the tension that had gathered there. He gave a small nod, and looked to Sebastian, as if embarrassed to admit it.

“Then that is all that matters, for there is nothing more worthwhile.” Sebastian could have quoted half a dozen lines from the chant that would have helped make his point, but Hawke rarely had anything but scorn for anything originating from the chantry, so he held his tongue and let his own words sink in. 

Hawke snorted at the sentiment, but appeared to give thought to it. “I… I ought to remind him, perhaps I don’t tell him enough. Thanks Sebastian.”

Both of them raised their heads as they heard the dinner bell ring out from the kitchens, and Sebastian got to his feet. “If we are lucky, we might be able to catch Elthina before she takes her meal.”

Hawke agreed, and went to seek out the high cleric once Sebastian had pointed him in the right direction. He had not wanted Sebastian’s company, but as he walked away Sebastian was pleased to see, the champion visibly brighter.

Sebastian smiled to himself, then reflected back on his words. He had said; ‘Nothing more worthwhile’ than love, and that didn’t sound like him… Rather, it did not sound like his father. It did not sound like a king at all… but then, he’d already decided he would not take the crown.

Which meant he was free to love. 

His entire chest seemed to contract then, but rather than painful, he felt lightheaded, free. His heart hammered as he took in the revelation, and he did not recoil from it nor try to deny that he was in love.

With Fenris. 

He knew he ought to go back to his chambers, and think this over, but he’d had weeks of prayer and over-analysing, and all it had accomplished was to muddle his thinking with too many words and thoughts. He’d done a fine job of weaving a mess of rationales and defences, so no wonder it had taken so long to uncover the truth of the matter, and Maker take him if he’d allow himself to make the same mistake again.

Before he could worry about the consequences, Sebastian Vael strode out across Kirkwall to Fenris’s mansion.

So determined was he to keep his steps in the right direction and not look back upon the chantry, Sebastian did not see Anders in a set of tatty robes, sneaking into one of the side entrances, a dark look in the healer’s eyes.

***

Fenris’s mansion was not far from the chantry, and Sebastian’s steps were swift. Before long, he was at the door, and had planned out what would happen once he had knocked upon the wood.

The elf would be surprised, and though perhaps not instantly pleased to see him, he would put aside his disgruntlement at Sebastian’s recent inactions and allow the archer inside. The prince would stand by the fire, turn to Fenris and profess his love, loud as he dared. Then, after Fenris had absorbed the words, and perhaps delivered a well-deserving punch to the face for Sebastian taking so long to come to the conclusion, they would embrace. And kiss. And make their way to the bedchamber, clutching at each other, shedding armour like moulted feathers along the way.

Fenris would resist the bodily contact at first, but Sebastian would sweep him up in a gust of passion and soft soothing words, and before long he would get to _touch_. And lick and bite and savour, but mostly touch, his lips and teeth and cock against skin and lyrium.

Sebastian realised he was panting heavy at the thought, and took a moment to collect himself, before rapping his knuckles against the door.

He waited.

When there seemed no answer, he tried again, and this time heard a muffled noise from within. More urgently, he slammed his hand against the solid door, beating a steady rhythm till at his palm ached. 

There was someone inside, and it could well have been Fenris that he’d heard. That he had not come to answer the door meant something was very wrong. He could be injured, having refused Anders’s healing and perhaps dying of some infection. He could have been robbed, and outnumbered, and injured. He could… be with Isabella, and so be rather distracted….

Sebastian gave a final knock at the door, not calling out in case Fenris recognised his voice and refused him, and when he still heard nothing, he took a deep breath and tried the door. It opened easily, and he quickly took himself in. looking around, he saw the main hall had a fire lit at least, and proceeded hesitantly. 

The main hall, which Fenris had been taking care to clean and dust, was cluttered with mostly empty wine bottles, and there was a smell of vinegar and vomit in the air. Ash from the fireplace had been tracked across the stone and carpets, and on the floor against the walls, glass shards glittered in small piles. The table had been upturned, and the second chair (Sebastian’s stomach lurched as he realised it was _his_ chair) was in pieces, some of which had been used to fuel the fire, but the old ornate wood appeared to prove poor fodder for the flames.

The fire struggled to burn, there was too much charcoal to let the flames take hold, and it cast a weak, stuttering light upon the room.

Fenris himself was in his chair, slumped slightly and working his way through what looked to be not the first wine bottle of the day. He blinked blearily at the intruder, and when he saw the gold and white plate, his eyes narrowed and he gave a scowl.

Sebastian was aghast, the room so different from the warm and inviting spare he and Fenris had shared, and the elf in the chair swaying in place, and dishevelled, armour askew and hair lank. The archer was not close enough to tell, but he could well imagine that if he were to get closer, he would smell the stale stink of old sweat and unwashed skin. 

He had thought his worst fear would be to find the elf and Isabella together, happy in each other’s’ arms, but no, _this_ made his heart felt like it was being crushed.

Fenris regarded him coldly, then waved his bottle to gesture Sebastian back towards the door.

“I do not wish to see you. Go ‘way…” There was an unmistakable slur to his voice, and a briskness that Fenris had never before had cause to take with Sebastian.

Sebastian stood, unsure, this was not how he had envisioned their reunion. There was only one thing he could think to say.

“I am sorry Fenris.”

“I don’t much care.” 

Sebastian took a slow breath, and nodded, accepting Fenris’s anger. He held his hands out in platitude, and took a step forward, and Fenris raised the bottle, not seeming to notice the wine trickling down his arm and onto the floor. 

When Sebastian did not shirk from the threat, Fenris tossed the bottle aside. His head bobbed as he met Sebastian’s eyes; “I ought not to stay my hand… “He muttered angrily.

“You are within your rights to be upset, and I would not blame you if you did want to throw things at me.”

Fenris made a face then, as if he was contemplating the exact same and had been called out. He turned his head away, and seemed to look for another bottle of wine to fill his hands with. Fortunately, all the bottles nearby were empty, or near enough to would not be worth the risk of unbalancing to reach one.

Sebastian felt near-ill to see the elf brought so low, and while he would have gladly taken a blow in retaliation for the poor way he had handled the situation, he couldn’t trust Fenris to have enough restraint not to do some serious damage. 

“…don’t want to hurt you. Not you. So you’d best go.” His voice sounded sad, all the anger leeched away by the wine’s toll upon him. Sebastian wondered if Fenris had been sober at all since he’d left for the chantry, and had to look away, the sight too distressing. Unfortunately, in averting his gaze, he spotted a patch of foul smelling darkness that looked to be regurgitated wine, and not much else. He wondered if he were to examine it more carefully, if he would find blood…

He should leave, before Fenris’s anger turned aggressive, but then, he could hardly leave the elf in such a state.

“I am not about to let you destroy yourself. Stay here, drink no more, and I shall bring you some food. And water. And fresh clothes.”

There was a pantry in the mansion, he’d passed it before, but on inspection it had little in the way of food that was not stale or outright inedible. It did not have much of anything, he realised, and caused him to worry when Fenris had last eaten a proper meal. 

“I… I will be back. I promise.” He called from the doorway, and when Fenris made no response, he quickly took himself out the front door.

He tried not to let his guilt overwhelm him, as he quickly left for the markets of Hightown. He did not barter, and so paid more coin than the simple oat biscuits, mild cheese and fresh rain water was worth, but he did not want to take the time it would take to bring the price down. Time, if wasted, would only allow his guilt to rise.

When he got back, Fenris had not moved, and though the elf frowned at the plain tasting water, he drank it greedily while Sebastian unwrapped the cheese and oatcakes. He cut the cheese into thin slices, and then, carefully removed the knife from Fenris’s reach. When Sebastian gestured to the food, Fenris had a look of distrust writ in his green eyes.

“Eat. It’ll help.” Sebastian said in his best reasonable voice, the one Elthina used on Meredith when the Templar got too pushy, “Sleep as well, I would reckon. We can talk once you are properly rested.”

Fenris might have wished to object, but his stomach gave a growl, and he reluctantly reached to take an oatcake. He ate delicately, but Sebastian noted that he took three, and plenty cheese, before he stopped to drain the last of the water.

In between bites, he murmured to either himself or Sebastian, it was hard to tell. Sebastian struggled to make out the words or meaning, and watched as Fenris seem to lose his strength, head dipping and arms seeming heavy and graceless. 

When even his eyes started to droop, Sebastian gently asked if he would like assistance in getting to his room, his legs seeming too sodden with wine to support his weight. Fenris tried to push the archer away, but near enough fell in trying to stand by himself, and Sebastian lent an arm to help the elf balance, Fenris’s brow furrowed all the way to the bedchamber.

He resisted going in to lay out fresh clothes as a reminder for when Fenris woke, instead leaving before the elf changed his mind about lashing out.

While the elf fell into what Sebastian hoped would be a deep and cleansing sleep, he set about restoring the main hall. He’d had enough practice as scrubbing and sweeping to make quick work of the dust and ash, and though it took several trips, he managed to clear the empty wine bottles out into the street, where winemakers were free to collect and reuse them.

He even gritted his teeth and tried not to breathe in through his nose, and washed clean the vomit stains. 

He was aware that the cleaning was mostly to distract him from his own thoughts, that were hammered steadily that he was an awful friend, and had ruined his chance with Fenris. That the elf would never forgive him…. That if this ache and hardship was love, perhaps his father had been right all along.

He could walk away, Maker knew Fenris had said often enough that he did not wish to see the archer, and he doubted that there was anything he could say or do that would undo the obvious damaged he’d inflicted upon the elf. Perhaps he was wrong to even try, that he would just end up hurting Fenris further.

Then again, surely the Maker was not so cruel to grant him the clarity of thought to realise his heart, only to show him it was unattainable to have Fenris reciprocate. Worse, that Fenris might have felt the same before, but he had managed to delay so long that any feeling the elf might have possessed had grown bitter and angry. No, he’d try, he’d come too far in himself not to.

So he took himself to the main hall, and sat down on the only available chair. The fire burned low, but was warm enough to soon lull him too, into sleep.

****

“You are in my chair.”

Sebastian startled awake, and immediately regretted not stripping from his armour before succumbing to sleep, his arm and legs feeling stiff and heavy. He struggled to his feet and saw that although he was red-eyed, Fenris was standing steadier. His frown was still there though, and looked as if it might never lift from his face.

Once he was free of the chair, Sebastian was distracted by trying to make sure that his legs held him upright. He looked, once he was certain of not collapsing under his own weight, to see Fenris peering at him.

Fenris had dressed, and the clothes under the armour looked clean. His hair might have even been washed, and Sebastian wondered how long Fenris had been awake before announcing his presence to the prince. His voice though, was harsh from over indulgence, and cutting.

“Why are you still here? Did I not make myself clear last night…?”

“It was early evening at best,” Sebastian remarked coldly, remembering that the sun had still been high when he’d happened upon the elf’s drunken form. He then realised this was a poor tone to take, if he was ever going to rekindle what was left of the relationship between them. He softened his voice, and tried to wake fully so his words were not quite so sharp and his head not quite so dull. “I understood you entirely, but I will not leave before I have made amends.”

“Fine. Say your fancy words and then Get. Out.”

Sebastian was glad for the chair between them, it kept him some space, and some illusion of relative safety between him and the angry warrior. Angry, but also defensive. It put Sebastian in mind of a beaten dog that had learnt its lesson, and was unwilling to trust lest it got hurt again. It conjured the last time he’d seen the Starkhaven hunting dog, and the memory was painful, and not reassuring he could ever make right what he’d done. He cursed Anders’s for his accuracy in comparing Fenris to a wild animal, his own past experiences making the analogy much too apt for comfort.

However, while a dog could not be reasoned with, Fenris might hear words and be swayed by them. Sebastian took a deep breath, and spoke, hopeful to reach past the anger to Fenris.

“I… was wrong. Wrong to leave in such a manner, wrong to not give chance for you and I to talk about it… wrong to assume that it would have little effect on yourself.”

Fenris looked like he might have argued that his current state, and that of his home had nothing to do with Sebastian, but they both knew each other too well for such lies. Sebastian did not let the silence linger, knowing Fenris would feel pressurised to answer, and did not want his reply rushed.

“I ran from you, and my feelings rather than admit to them. Too stupid and too proud and too fearful to acknowledge myself. For countless hours, I have been in the chantry, seeking guidance and asking the Maker for forgiveness for my sins… when really, I should have been here, asking you.  
“Forgive me Fenris.”

There was a pause, then; “ _What_ feelings…?” Fenris’s voice had slowed, as if he did not believe his ears. 

The moment of truth, and suddenly Sebastian realised the difference between confessing yourself to an unseen deity rather than to a pair of bright green eyes, focused and intense. “That I…” he faltered, the words refusing to be spoken.

There had been a hopefulness to Fenris’s face, a small flickering flame, but Sebastian’s stumbling, and Fenris’s own self-doubt quickly extinguished it, and his mouth drew tight and his eyes hardened. 

Cursing his tongue, that felt lead lined rather than his normal quick-silver, Sebastian did the only thing he could think of to prove his sincerity in lieu of words. He pushed the chair from him, and fell to his knees in front of Fenris, looking up, looking desperate. 

As Fenris shied from the gesture, Sebastian saw that it was both too much and not enough. 

“No…” Fenris said, “You are… confused. Mistaking guilt and pity for something else.” Then, more to himself, he muttered; “Someone like you could never come to care for someone as broken and dangerous as myself.” It sounded like something Fenris had told himself, over and over until he believed it. Till the words became reasonable explanation for why Sebastian had not seen him at all over the last weeks.

“But I do.” Sebastian was surprised at himself, and the words that sprung unbidden, unchecked from his mouth. He was too used to analysing everything he said, making sure every word presented as he wanted. He then reflected back on Fenris’s statement, and quickly added, “And you’re not. You are strong, and brave and gorgeous and clever. And I want you.”

Fenris shook his head, and took a step backwards. “No. Go back to the chantry, you’d be happier to just forget about me.”

“I was far from happy in the chantry.” 

“Venhedis! … Why must you make this so difficult?” 

Though Sebastian did not know the exact meaning of the tevinter word, from the venom in Fenris’s voice he could take an educated guess that it was not complimentary.

“You… would be better off without me.” Fenris’s words were softly spoken, tinged with both anger and sadness, “You had the right of it to call a halt to things, I had become too… attached. I apologise for making you uncomfortable, for scaring you off, but you need not _pity_ me.”

“It was not pity that brought me here…” _but love_ \- Maker, why was it so hard to say the words?

“Guilt then, or some sense of obligation to the broken ex-slave. It hardly matters. You ought to have stayed away, and left me to my own devices.”

“Drinking yourself to death you mean.” 

Fenris gave a frustrated huff of air, and crossed his arms. “And what would you care if I did?”

“Haven’t you been listening, of course I would care! I love you.”

In the silence that followed, Sebastian could hear his heart fluttering like a bird in a cage, waiting to see if the finally opened door would be slammed shut upon him.

“You shouldn’t…” Fenris muttered, then, as it seemed Sebastian would not be moved from the floor, he collected himself, and started toward the door. There was something in his step, a heavy finality that Sebastian knew meant he was not planning to return. That the elf would leave Kirkwall, thinking it would be for the best, and not care what Sebastian had to say on the matter. Sebastian knew because it was almost exactly how he’d felt when he had decided to return to the chantry, the weight of his decision making his own footfalls laden and loud.

He was still kneeling, and could not have moved fast enough to stop him, even if he wanted, his legs and knees too stiff from sleeping in armour, and then kneeling upon unforgiving stone. Frantic, he called out to the fast retreating elf; “Don’t run from this. Do not make the same mistake I did….”

The words were like a pinning shot, and Fenris stopped mid stance on his way to the door. He turned slowly, as Sebastian rose unsteadily to his feet.

The archer had tried words, throwing them out with abandon as if hoping some combination would somehow remedy the situation. He had tried falling to his knees and begging forgiveness, beseeching Fenris to absolve him of his guilt and blame. As this too, had failed to work, Sebastian was determined to try one last thing. 

He walked over, as best his protesting legs would allow him, and bracing slightly for Fenris’s retaliation, placed his hands on Fenris’s shoulders. Lyrium flared, suddenly bright, as Sebastian leaned forwards and touched his lips to Fenris’s.

Aware that Fenris could be lethal in close quarters, Sebastian purposefully kept his mouth closed, and the kiss as soft and brief as he could. Hard, given that he could smell Fenris, all leather and lyrium, wine still clinging to his breath. The warmth too, was unexpected, Fenris often appearing cold as his snow-white hair. He wanted, _oh Maker he **wanted**_ , to press deeper, to feel the pulse under his lips, but he managed to draw back, though it was like dragging a dagger across his own palm.

When he dared to open his eyes, he saw Fenris, head tipped towards him and eyes hazy. The elf took a series of small short breaths, that Sebastian prayed did not mean he was readying for violence. He then reached out to clutch Sebastian by the sides of his armour and pulled the two together, pressing his lips against Sebastian’s with a desperate urgency.

Shocked at something finally going right, at first Sebastian did not realise that he’d let his tongue slip out. Only when it connected with Fenris’s, sparking like lightening through his nerves, did he let his instinct take over and simply enjoy the feel of slick tongue sliding against tongue, the taste and smell of the elf flooding his senses.

He swallowed every little soft sound of pleasure from the elf, drinking them in till he felt he might drown. When he finally became so breathless that he had to pull away, it was with great reluctance.

“Fenris…” he breathed, his accent already sitting heavily upon his tongue. Fenris was staring at him, all the rage gone from his eyes, pupils large and dark.

“Sebastian.” It felt good to hear his name spoken in such tones, Fenris had a wonderful husky quality to his voice that went straight to his cock. “We should not…. Your vows….”

Sebastian reached out a hand, trailing fingers lightly up the shoulder, unwilling to break contact, even for a moment, and cupped Fenris’s cheek, preventing the elf turning to look away.

“Hush, the vows have no hold over me anymore, I do not need them. They were only holding me back. I was a fool for thinking I could ever be satisfied without _this_.”

“You _are_ still a fool….” Softly spoken, and warm, hardly the abolishment it might have been. The implication though, that Sebastian was foolish for pursuing the elf, remained. One day, and one day soon, Sebastian would manage to get past Fenris’s defences and convince him that he was not such a terrible prospect for a partner, that he was more than worthy, but for the moment the archer was simply glad that Fenris seemed to have at least partway accepted that Sebastian was here, and that he wasn’t going to leave this time. Sebastian smiled, and nodded.

“I will not argue with you there.”

Fenris did not smile, but his frown eased, and that was enough. Sebastian took a short step back, hand still on Fenris’s face, and let there be space enough that Fenris did not feel rushed, nor too overwhelmed.

The gesture seemed appreciated, and Fenris tilted his head a fraction to the side, thinking. Against his better judgement, Sebastian did not use the time to plan his next sentence, instead trusting that he would speak more openly without deliberating over his words

“So… when you left… it was not because I had offended. Because I was inadequate?”

Sebastian dropped his hand in shock, then reached to take both Fenris’s in his own, holding them between them. “Maker’s breath! Is that what you’ve been thinking? No Fenris… I left because I could not face what I felt. I’d been so long taught that love between mortals was a weakness, I was afraid to let myself admit to it. But I was wrong. ”

Fenris seemed accepting of that, and Sebastian marvelled at how easy it was to speak his mind with Fenris, without worrying his words would be misread. He supposed, after what Fenris had gone through, there was not much he could say that would cut deeper or hurt more. He vowed that he would make it up to Fenris, that he would work to earn back Fenris’s trust.

“So what made you change your mind?” Quizzical, and for the first time since Sebastian had come back, there was no trace of fear of what the answer might be.

“Hawke.” He replied.

Fenris nodded, unsurprised. It all came round to Hawke, eventually. The man had a talent for being in the centre of everything, as if he stood in the eye of a storm, all about him being swept up in the vortex that was his life.

“It seems I owe him then. I shall endeavour not to murder his mage.”

Sebastian smiled, more that Fenris felt comfortable enough to jest, than at the on-going animosity between elf and healer.

 

He released Fenris’s hands, and looked about the room. There needed to be words, to have the air clear before he acted on any of the insistent and verging-on-distracting messages his body, namely his cock, was sending him. 

He gestured to the chair, and pulled the table over, leaning against the wood and hoping his legs would hold him up long enough that he did not collapse into an undignified pile on the floor.

Fenris seemed to understand, and took the chair, but dragged it closer to Sebastian. The tension had gone from him, the anger ebbed low. Sebastian was loath to stir up the past weeks, but he needed to know the amount of pain he’d caused, needed to know what had happened. Maker knew he’d muddled things quite spectacularly, but there seemed to be scope to make things right. If Fenris was willing, he’d at least try to start this properly, with the both of them comfortable in each other presence, all hurts addressed and apologised for, and himself having at least visited a washroom to freshen up.

“I… would know what has happened in my absence. So… while I was in the chantry making a right royal mess of things, you were here? The whole time?”

Fenris tried to duck his head, but then seemed to change his mind, instead owning up to the fact that he’d not done much other than drink for the past weeks. He gave a solemn nod, then added; “For the first week, yes. I thought that if I went with Hawke on one of his adventures, I might miss you should you have come to visit. So I stayed, and made steady progress through Danarius’s wine collection. Then, once the cellar had started to look a little bare, I took Varric’s advice and ‘got out’, and went to The Hanged Man also. Shortly after, Varric told Koff not to give me anymore wine. Or ale or spirits or even what he dubiously calls ‘liquors’. Meddling dwarf. Though I daresay Isabella probably had a say in it as well…”

Her name reminded Sebastian, and though he was not sure that he wanted to know what had transpired between Fenris and Isabella, he knew from the heavy feeling in his gut that it would plague him till he knew. Careful, tone as light he could make it, he asked; “Hawke mentioned you and Isabella had reached ‘an accord’.”

Fenris chuckled, “certainly. We agreed that she would keep her hands to herself, and I would keep mine out her chest. The woman is a menace, but after that she did leave me be.”

He seemed to breathe easier, knowing that Isabella had not touched what he was fast beginning to think of as _his_. He looked up, to see Fenris’s eyes suddenly cold again, and the elf curled his hands into loose fists by his side. 

“Varric and Hawke, and even Isabella aside… You will not do that to me again…” Sebastian did not have to ask what ‘that’ was, the look of Fenris face told of the way he’d suffered, waiting for Sebastian to return, which he had not. 

From anyone else, such words would have been a question, seeking reassurance and platitudes to mend over the hurt caused. Fenris however made it a statement; with just a hint of threat should Sebastian ever lose his nerve and repeat his mistake.

“Never again.” Sebastian promised. He wondered if he ought to add more, or if he sounded sincere enough.

Fenris nodded, satisfied, then rose from the chair, his liquid movement a damn-sight more graceful than Sebastian’s earlier attempt. Distinctly predatory, there was no mistaking the intention, as he closed the distance, forcing Sebastian to bring a hand up, stopping Fenris in his tracks.

“I… I ought to wash, I have been in this armour too long. Will you grant me leave to use your water?”

As he gestured that Sebastian could indeed make use of the washroom, Fenris seemed disappointed, but hid it well. Moreso, Sebastian almost missed the way his eyes darted after him, making sure that Sebastian was indeed heading to the washroom rather than the main door. 

The water was cold, bracing, and Sebastian willed himself not to rush, to make sure the sweat of the night was cleansed as best he could. His shirt was not clean, but he did not want to seem overly presumptuous and go back through without something covering his chest, so pulled it over his head. He did not put his bracers back on, nor his breastplate, feeling more confident that he was no longer at risk of impromptu organ removal. 

When he came back to the main hall, Fenris was fidgeting with a piece of oatcake, crumbling it in his hands, and trying not to watch the door for Sebastian’s return. As the prince approached, there was an awkward silence, both men knowing what they wanted, but unable to voice their desires.

“I apologise for the delay and the interruption…” Sebastian began weakly.

Fenris then curled his lips, eyes glinting and voice practically a purr; “I think perhaps, that you may be worth the wait.” He followed with a slow heated stare, up and down Sebastian’s body, and the archer had to catch his breath, so intense was the green gaze.

The desperate clash of four hands against each other did not make for an elegant embrace, but the way Sebastian was so close he could almost hear Fenris’s heartbeat more than made up. He curbed his own desire to hold the elf, and let Fenris touch him, light lyrium’d fingers tracing down his chest, his shirt clutched in a hand, as if holding on to make sure he didn’t get away again.

Grasping haste soon gave way to more careful exploration, as Fenris ran fingertips over cloth, over skin, and Sebastian could not help but chuckle lightly as Fenris’s came across the start of beard growth on his chin, the coarseness surprising the elf. He repeated the motion of stroking down Sebastian’s cheek, feeling the smooth skin turn to bristle, finishing at the corner of Sebastian’s mouth. 

Spurred, Sebastian twisted his head to the slide quickly and caught Fenris’s stilled finger between his lips. When Fenris did not pull away, he let his tongue slip out, running over the pads and tasting the ridges and sweat.

Though Fenris did not move to resist, Sebastian felt the tension grow taunt, and looked down to see that Fenris’s toes were curled slightly against the ground, gripping. Rather than have Fenris snap under the new sensations, Sebastian forced down his rising desire to touch, to lead. To take fingers in his mouth and suck, showing off the skills he’d learnt in his youth, with the promise of further applications, no, he would let Fenris set the pace. Sebastian kissed the fingers tenderly, and then released them.

Some of the tightness dissipated from him, and Fenris gave Sebastian a grateful look that filled his eyes. He began again to touch lightly upon Sebastian’s skin, and though half-maddening, Sebastian allowed the tease of ghostly fingertips and almost-caresses. After retracing the curve of his face, Fenris grew bolder, and with a glint in his darkening eyes, skimmed down to just under the collar of his shirt, letting his fingertips feel what he could not see.

An invasion of privacy, and welcome, Sebastian let for the first time in months a hand roam past the barrier of clothes. That was when he knew his vows were forgone, that there was no going back, he missed too much the feel of another against him, the anticipation and thrill, and the delicious heat it produced.

He gave a reassuring smile, and Fenris let his whole hand slide under the fabric, running along the length of a shoulder. The contact became solid, as Fenris held onto the shoulder, pulling Sebastian closer.

Fenris had to stretch on the balls of his feet to reach Sebastian’s lips with his own, and tightened his grip on Sebastian’s undershirt for balance, but when Sebastian felt the wetness touch against his mouth he gathered the elf into his arms, holding him tight. On feeling Fenris open to him, he swept his tongue over lips, then inside, into soft, wet heat.

Never before, had a kiss affected him so. He felt his knees grow weak, and his breath come too shallow and quick. His manhood had hardened, and Sebastian was almost embarrassed at how much he had to fight from his hips edging forward to rock against Fenris’s body.

When he felt the hard ridge of leather against him, he though his hips had moved of their own accord, but then Fenris gave a panted noise, and he saw the elf’s back arched as _he_ tipped himself closer. 

Sebastian lowered his head, into the angular dip where shoulder met neck, and rested the crown of his head on the muscle and bone there. Space to breathe, space to think, but all his thoughts were of want, and need, and heat and skin and _Fenris_. There needed to be a bed, or the table, or _something _before he lost the power to keep his legs standing firm. Before he simply threw the pair of them to the ground, self-control abandoned, and rutted like animals.__

__Thankfully, Fenris seemed to have the same inclination to find somewhere a little more comfortable than stone tiles or wood to continue, and though he still held a handful of Sebastian’s shirt, he took a small shuffling step towards the doorway._ _

__Once the move had been started, Sebastian followed fast, not quite running after Fenris to his bedroom, but most definitely not ambling either. Momentum seemed to carry his footsteps, but his heart could not beat any harder._ _

__He’d been in Fenris’s bedroom before, when he’d massaged the tension from the elf, so he instantly saw that there were items out of place. Wine bottles, not as many as had been in the hall, but enough that would need several trips to the street to clear them out, lay on their sides all around the bed. A white robe, torn in places, was half hidden under the bed, and on the bedside table was one of his arrows, the tip covered in a piece of leather. The massage oil too, and the great weight of white and gold marble dildo, set apart, shrine-like._ _

__He’d stopped, and Fenris had followed his gaze to the bedchambers, and the items out on display. He coloured with embarrassment, or perhaps a flush of residual anger, and let go of Sebastian’s shirt._ _

__Sebastian could feel the difference, the sudden lightness, the way the cloth no longer tugged, and wondered at how hard Fenris must have been gripping._ _

__“It’s ok.” He said simply, and reached for Fenris, who allowed hands to settle upon shoulders and pull him close._ _

__Fenris took the shirt up again, but instead of grasping it in a fist, held the fabric between thumb and forefinger, and his eyes shot to Sebastian’s’, giving the shirt the slightest of upwards gestures._ _

__“….may I?”_ _

__“Yes.” The low hiss of the word was raw, and unmasked in his hunger for it. The air seemed to coagulate in his lungs, as Fenris pulled the shirt from him, dropping it on the ground._ _

__He could feel Fenris’s hand, brush over the exposed skin, and, again, Fenris seemed fascinated by the body hair, a light covering of pale brown, that started just above his solar plexus and drifted down over his belly, darkening as they neared his groin._ _

__Sebastian knew, from his younger days, that despite popular belief, elves were not devoid of hair save from their heads. However, theirs was a finer dusting, and more sparse, and usually so soft you might not even notice unless you were nose deep in someone’s private parts._ _

__Fingertips seemed to seek out the roughest patches of his hair, then on to follow the various scars he’d accumulated, mostly faded, nearly invisible if you need not know to look for them. His side injury was fresh enough to be obvious though, and Fenris rubbed against the healing scar tissue, then moved on to pick out where a training blade had not been blunted 6 years ago, where a bar fight had turned dangerous, where a rage demon had spewed molten foulness that had leeched through his armour and burned the skin underneath…_ _

__Fenris _had_ seen him without a shirt to cover him, he’d even bathed with the elf, so this near-obsessional stroking over his abdominals confused him. He threw a questioning glance, which Fenris did not catch straight away. When he did, another flush came over him, and he dipped his head before replying._ _

__“I’d thought… you’d be smooth, like skin without lyrium. It’s strange to find hair, and scars, it is different to how I’d imagined…. Better. More real.”_ _

__Despite his best intentions, there was a part of Sebastian that thrilled to hear that he’d been fantasised about in such detail that Fenris had constructed an idea of how his very skin would feel. It was the same part that could look upon his abandoned items upon the bedside table without guilt or discomfort, and with a slight grimace that he was less the ideal he hoped to be, Sebastian put such thoughts aside. He was here for Fenris, and would see the elf’s patience in waiting for him to return rewarded._ _

__It was the very least of what he could do._ _

__Fenris’s hand drifted lower, over abdominal muscles that shook as he drew one ragged breath after another, to rest on the hem of his trousers. The shiver that the simple gesture induced ran the length of his spine, and Sebastian wondered how he was supposed to retain control of his senses under Fenris’s slow and systematic unravelling of them._ _

__Sebastian reached out with a hand made clumsy with desire, partly to reassure himself this was not some trick of the fade, partly to return the favour, and start to remove the armour that covered Fenris, clinging to him, shielding him._ _

__When his outstretched fingertips touched the first of the buckles that kept the armour in place, Fenris flinched._ _

__Though Fenris moved back hurried, an apologetic look writ wide across his face, Sebastian withdrew his hand, instead moving to cover Fenris’s with his own. He gave a little squeeze, just enough that Fenris would be able to feel past the leather bracers he wore. With a slow smile, warm, understanding, he pushed the elf’s hand against the buttons of Sebastian’s breeches, hand loose enough Fenris could pull away if he needed to._ _

__Sebastian could guess at the response; just as he felt comfortable to forgo his chest plates and bracers because he trusted Fenris, Fenris had instinctively had worn armour because he needed the protection the armour represented. There was trust between them, fragile, growing, but Fenris did not yet feel safe enough to overcome his reflexes, the warrior mentality seeing armour as a guard from harm, from hurt._ _

__Sebastian could have easily made pleading eyes, until Fenris shucked off his armour himself, else reached again and ignored the flinch or tenseness that would follow, and get right to the part where they were both naked and together. Though he could see the elf’s hardness, visible under the leathers, and though he desperately wanted Fenris, he knew Fenris would not thank him for rushing._ _

__He was not here for a one time rut._ _

__A little harder, he pressed Fenris to the buttons, staying his hands from the elf._ _

__“It’s all right…” he said softly, soothing. Then, as his accent gripped his tongue; “It’s aw right. Touch as yeh will… Ah am yers.”_ _

__With the force that Fenris suddenly applied, Sebastian was knocked backwards to a wall, as Fenris both kissed, and firmly started to undo his breeches, tugging till the offending button gave up its prize. That Fenris had chosen not to wear his full gauntlets, all metal and spikes and claws, instead just the leather underlayer that wrapped round his hands but left his fingers free to explore and manipulate fiddly things such as buttons, saved time, and saved Sebastian from urging the elf to simply rip the breeches from him. As the heavy cloth of his breeches was allowed to fall down round his feet, he kicked it aside, to save from tangling his legs. He might have felt awkward, standing in nought but his smallclothes while Fenris stood in near full armour, only the vicious claws of his gauntlets missing, but for the fierce look in Fenris’s eyes, lusty, _longing_ , burned away all shame. Sebastian let Fenris push him against the wall, the stone supporting him as lips and tongue moved against his. He felt exposed, vulnerable, but rather than take control and claim the kiss for himself as was his usual manner, he became passive, allowing Fenris discover the heat and sensation of another’s mouth at his own pace. _ _

__Fenris proved a quick study, and Sebastian was grateful for the stone behind him, as he grew lightheaded as he felt his mouth so thoroughly _claimed_. Sebastian barely had time to gasp out his partners name when he felt hot lips against his neck, and teeth, and the faintest of pleased murmurs as Fenris pressed against the pulse of his throat._ _

__He had to force his hands to his sides, because otherwise he’d have been tempted to grasp Fenris, bring him closer, till the space between them disappeared and he would be able to feel Fenris’s chest, still encased in hard leathers and spikes, against the bareness of his. For Fenris, he’d resist, or would try to, as long as his will held out._ _

__Waiting for his partner to make a move, to have someone else lead and allow himself to be led, was a novel experience, and there was a certain simplicity in knowing all he had to do was _let_ Fenris do as he wished. Normally so alert of all his surroundings, so careful and composed in his every word and step, he relinquished his control. His vision narrowed till there was just Fenris, green eyes under soft white strands, lips parted slightly, and a shimmer of lyrium in the air. _ _

__A tongue laved up his throat, the panting breath on the saliva cool against blood that pulsed strong and hot under the skin, and Sebastian arched against the wall, baring his neck in submission. Fenris gave a wolfish grin, and scraped teeth over the offered flesh, then as he moved to bite delicately over a collarbone, saw the hands Sebastian had pressed against the stone, clutching, fingertips blanched as he fought to keep them there._ _

__Slowly, Fenris took a step back, and curled his fingers around Sebastian’s wrist, the hardened leather hot with his body heat. He waited till Sebastian’s eyes focused on his own hand, held, then Fenris lifted it to one of the thin curls of lyrium on his arm._ _

__All his air left him, as Fenris guided his hand so that he could touch against the skin the armour did not cover, and Sebastian did not immediately go to draw a new breath, fearful that even the slightly intake might cause Fenris to change his mind. When his lungs started to burn, he reluctantly let his chest expand, grateful for both the air and that Fenris did not release his hand, but instead through gentle touch, coax it down the inside of his elbow, till Sebastian’s fingers met with the edge of his bracer._ _

__His hand held there for a moment, and Sebastian managed to not go for the buckles to release the armour instantly, but wait for Fenris to give the smallest of nods, and relax his grip to allow Sebastian’s dexterous fingers to work the fastenings. The unfamiliar grip of the leather, and that he only had a single hand, slowed him, but soon the gauntlet loosened, and clattered to the floor._ _

__As he slid his hand down the revealed skin, Fenris’s still over his wrist, as yet clad in the remaining arm piece but allowing freedom of movement, Sebastian moved to use the flat of his fingers, eager to touch as possible, craving the feel of hot skin. As he brought his fingers back over the palm, trailing up the forearm, he dared to drag his thumbnail over the inside wrist, and was rewarded by a flex of Fenris’s free hand, and soft ‘Uh’ of surprise at the sensation._ _

__Sebastian paused, wondering if he’d gone too far, forgetting in the dizzy euphoria that contact with Fenris’s skin seemed to produce, that Fenris disliked touch at the best of times. Whether it was the fault of the lyrium tattoos, or that he’d been denied for so long the tactile taste of the flesh, he cursed himself for not being more mindful, for not being able to keep better control of himself._ _

__Fenris swallowed hard, and looked to Sebastian, tightening his grip on Sebastian’s wrist, pinning the hand where it was and preventing it from moving further without Sebastian having to fight for it._ _

__“Do that again..” he breathed, a rough cadence to his voice._ _

__Sebastian took great pleasure in obeying, digging the thumbnail slow, and deep, watching how Fenris seemed to want to both pull away and press into the hard curve at the end of his thumbtip. The flex and twitch of muscles, not quite writhing but close enough that Sebastian wanted dearly to see more, to see how Fenris might move in the throes of passion, those glorious moments on the cusp of ecstasy._ _

__He had presence of mind to stop, before both of their resolves were undone, clutching what was left of his patience and slowing his breaths in efforts to calm his racing heart and pounding blood. The reprieve also allowed Fenris chance to breathe, and steady himself on his feet, the elf having no wall to set himself against._ _

__Eyes, masked in an unreadable look, stared at him, and Sebastian stilled, watching. There was no hiding the desire to continue, he could feel the expression give him away, let Fenris see just how much he wanted, near needed, this._ _

__With a slight shiver, of anticipation or fear, Sebastian could not tell, Fenris guided Sebastian’s hand to his shoulders, and the fastenings of the armour hidden under spikes and riveted panels of metal. His grip gave no clue, neither constricting nor shaking, so Sebastian elected to take time, and give Fenris opportunity to both get used to the idea that Sebastian would have access to his chest once the armour was removed, and that he could stop the proceedings should he feel the need._ _

__While Sebastian could appreciate that armour that was well fitted, and that would not shift during movement would be more comfortable and offer better protection, the number of fastenings, buckles and catches holding Fenris’ to his lean frame had started to seem that they were only in place to vex him. He gave an impatience grunt, partly masked by his noisy breathing, his lungs demanding more air than he seemed capable of supplying without gaping his mouth like a landed fish._ _

__Fenris must have heard, because he twisted slightly, showing Sebastian where the armour joined to help hasten the process of freeing him from its tight hold. He used his other hand to likewise loosen the straps Sebastian had missed, and soon, with a waft of sweat and leather, not unpleasant, the chest piece came away, Fenris dropping it on the floor to rest by the gauntlet, and not much caring for how the leather landed._ _

__The thick undershirt he wore under the armour to stop it rubbing his skin raw was quickly unbuttoned, and pulled over his head, but Fenris had to release the hand he held in order to fully remove the shirt. The fabric was cast away, as if it offended, and Fenris did not bother to even look where he tossed it to._ _

__His interest was entirely focused on Sebastian, and what he would do next. When Sebastian gave a long look, and then held his wrist out, offering Fenris to again take it and keep some form of control over where Sebastian could touch, Fenris wrapped his unarmoured hand around, and drew Sebastian’s hand to his chest, holding it there._ _

__The feel of fingers on his hand upon Fenris’s chest, of skin on skin on skin, and the sight of dark skin in contrast to his own paler tones made Sebastian realise how far Fenris had come. Hand splayed wide, he pressed, till he could feel Fenris’s heart hammering under bone and skin._ _

__“Beautiful… just beautiful…” he whispered, and saw that when Fenris blushed, the colour reached his chest._ _

__He shifted his hand to the side, sliding over a pectoral, then upwards. He felt, rather than saw or heard, Fenris swallow hard, and felt the tightness turn his flesh rigid. Before he knew, he was stroking up and down the side of the neck, soothing, and it was _working_._ _

__Fenris’s grip grew lax, no more than the ghost of a handhold, as Sebastian drew a line from throat to cheek, Fenris’s face soft and smooth. He brushed hair out of the eyes, and though it fell back to veil over the deep green almost immediately, Sebastian enjoying being able to see Fenris, and touch, and see no fear reflected back at him._ _

__He lightly ran the back of his fingers up the side of the angular face, and around the curve of the ear, and watched as Fenris gave a little sigh, and closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly into the contact. The next time he used a fingertip, and then, remembering Fenris’s reaction to fingernails, applied the slightest of pressure though his forefinger nail to the outer shell of Fenris’s delicately pointed ears._ _

__Another flush of colour followed, and as he looked down to see how much of Fenris’s chest might share the blush this time, he saw that through the leathers, Fenris was obviously hard, and that he legs were beginning to tremble with the effort in staying upright. His own cock pulsed in sympathy, and Sebastian looked to see how many steps away the bed was._ _

__It was perhaps not the most orthodox way to bring someone to bed, to lead with a wrist held by the other, but it seemed sufficient._ _

__Sebastian turned till he felt the mattress behind his knees, and sat upon the bed, pulling Fenris after him. To Sebastian’s surprise, Fenris did not chose to sit by his side, but bring a knee up one side of his hips, and move over the archer, causing Sebastian to shift backwards as far as he was able, to grant Fenris room to balance himself. The one free arm, still armoured, went to Sebastian’s other side, effectively trapping Sebastian under him._ _

__Fenris rocked forwards, and Sebastian took the cue, leaning back till he lay on the bed, Fenris over him, filling his vision and so close he was lost in the scent of him. Masculine, sweat and leather, the smell of a warrior, and tinged with the odd flint-mineral tang of lyrium, and a definite hint of musk._ _

__If it were him on top, he’d have sat back for a long moment, and appreciated the sight of the body beneath him. A quick glance into green eyes intense and full of black showed that Fenris was indeed enjoying the view his vantage point allowed, and Sebastian, who had never considered what it would feel like to be the individual under such scrutiny, found the experience oddly intimidating. Arousing too, he found, to be looked upon with such hunger, the grip of thigh against him, Fenris’s body blocking any escape attempt he might make. His neglected manhood gave a slight surge, feeling hard and full, and eager for release._ _

__He arched, seeking some sort of friction against his cock, almost painfully swollen. Fenris looked down, and gave a shy look, and settled himself to the side. He too, Sebastian decided, was also reaching his limits, and he was yet still wearing trousers. Sebastian instantly saw it would be problematic to try and undress Fenris with his hand still held, the reach did not allow for easily removal of the tight leather trousers, complete with protective panels. He ceased to wonder what Fenris planned to do about the issue of his armoured bottom half when Fenris tentatively took his hand from Sebastian’s wrist, and with a nudge, gestured him downwards._ _

__“Yeh are sure?” Sebastian was aware he’d prompted the move bedwards, and did not like to think he was hurrying Fenris, but Fenris flashed a smile, and said in a voice thick and sultry; “Yes. I trust you.”_ _

__Sebastian had to catch himself from reaching for the trousers too fast, fingers itching to run over the taunt lines of muscles hidden underneath, and instead take time to appreciate the statement. Though he was well respected in the chantry (now at least), and proved himself to be an accomplished archer that could stand against qunari, dragons and demons, those few words, softly spoken, seemed to him to be of more value than any of his past achievements._ _

__Fenris, probably to give his hands something to do that was not grabbing at his wrist, undid his final bracer from his arm, and with an effort that Sebastian could feel reverb through his body, threw it off the bed._ _

__Finally, naked and waiting, and _ready_ , Sebastian let his eyes wander up and down the length of Fenris’s body, noting how small he looked without his armour, without his warning scowl. Slim, but strong yet, as he let himself trust in the man before him._ _

__Sebastian’s fingers trembled, as he shuffled down towards Fenris’s feet for ease of applying himself to the task, and he stroked down across a hip to thigh, the leather warm and soft enough he could feel the muscle and slight give of skin beneath. Fenris shifted slightly, and Sebastian took pity on the uncomfortable bulged he found his eyes drawn to, and moved to quickly relieve some of the pressure._ _

__Careful not to brush his fingers along the freed length as he worked the trousers down past hips, Sebastian pulled as gently as he was able till the leather slid down lean legs, and onto the floor to join the growing pile of discarded armour and clothes._ _

__He looked to the smallclothes, and brought himself forward on his elbows, eyes fixed upwards, and hooked his fingers into the band of cloth. Fenris made no sound, no expression to stop, so with a delicate touch, Sebastian stripped Fenris down to nothing but olive skin and lyrium tattoos._ _

__The scent of musk grew stronger, and Sebastian found himself favouring breathing through his nose, so that he might inhale as much of the heady fragrance as possible. There _was_ hair down there, he saw, now he was close enough to properly observe, fine white wisps, almost like smoke, and easily missed as the two lines of lyrium twisted up the length of his cock, distracted from anything as subtle as bodyhair._ _

__He looked up, fully aware that his own eyes might be considered ‘puppy dog’ at present, and licked his lips._ _

__“Fenris, ah would dearly like to use ma mouth upon yeh… Might ah have yer permission?”_ _

__The slight jolt of Fenris’s penis, stiff and tempting, could have been taken for an answer, but he wanted to check Fenris did grant permission, making the act completely consensual. If he was pressed Sebastian might even admit an urge to hear the words from Fenris, delivered in a sensual breathy whisper._ _

__Even with his eyeline level with Fenris’s waist, he heard the swallow, and short choked sound that emitted before Fenris finally managed to speak. “I... yes, I would like that.” Then, as if there was any doubt in the way his length practically shivered in anticipation and the gravely quality of his voice, “You have my permission.”_ _

__Sebastian clenched his hands, letting fingernails dig into his palms as he laid them into the mattress, shifting position and pleased that Fenris likewise adjusted himself, leaning backward so the angle was not as arduous to his neck. He would not grasp nor grip Fenris, not till he knew such contact would be not just tolerated but enjoyed, and for the first time in months, Sebastian was glad of his past experiences that gave him some confidence in his abilities to use nothing but his mouth._ _

__He extended his tongue first, allowing Fenris to see what was about to happen, and with the very tip, touched midway up the gloriously full cock, just short of one of the lyrium lines. Fenris’s breath hitched, and his hips, unrestrained, twisted backwards away from the sensation._ _

__Sebastian waited for Fenris to return to position, then repeated the motion, and again till Fenris could keep still throughout the slow, careful wet touch. Unable to resist, Sebastian leaned in, and took a board lick upwards, gathering the taste upon his tongue._ _

__It had been an age since he had last been able to taste another, and he wondered how he had ever managed to resist for so long, his senses singing, the taste as heady as wine._ _

__He pulled back, just a little way, running his tongue inside his own mouth, savouring it; all salt and bitter musk and sex, distilled to an intoxicating blend. When Fenris gave an impatience stretch, he grinned, and blew upon the hot flesh, made wet by his salvia. The air turned the wetness cold, and Fenris gave a small gasp, stilling both body and breath as he felt the coolness and heat of his blood meet._ _

__There was a tremble, and Sebastian recognised it as the herald of the end of Fenris’s self-control. Even with the training Sebastian could easily guess Fenris had been subject to, and the elf’s own sense of strong discipline, it was too much to expect him to hold out against the sensations that had been steading mounting. Worse than that, it was fast approaching the point where it’d be cruel to do anything but allow him to release. With a degree of selfishness, Sebastian had to admit, there was something to be said for being able to bring Fenris to his well-deserved climax, to watch as he fell apart at Sebastian’s touch._ _

__He bent his head, and licked up the heated length, then again before Fenris had chance to collect himself. Hips jerked, and Fenris’s body shook, and the elf pulled away, speaking through heavy pants._ _

__“Too much…. Stop, else I’ll…. Too soon…” he was not convincing, his entire body aching for Sebastian to continue, undermining his well-intentioned words._ _

__Sebastian lifted his head, letting his tongue slip back into his mouth with a calculated curl._ _

__“Hush. Yeh are due reward for waiting sae patiently for me.” When Fenris tried to shake his head, Sebastian continued, his accent, and the taste of Fenris thick upon his tongue. “Have yer release now, an’ Ah promise, Ah’ll grant yeh another before the night is through. There is more Ah wish to do with you, dear Fenris, but Ah wish tae take ma time over yeh, an’ it will not do tae have yeh sae _distracted_.”_ _

__Fenris’s eyes dilated and he threw back his head, and made no more move to squirm away. Greedily, Sebastian licked his lips, moving close as he was able. Knowing he would not have to do much, he positioned himself over the head, already a dark shade of pink, and with a pleased ‘hmmm’, slid the tip into his mouth. He’d been ready for Fenris to react, but not the shuddering thrust of the hips that his mouth seemed to provoke. Luckily, he was practiced enough that he could pull back, opening his throat and not gagging on the length, more than he had planned to take, that entered deep into his mouth._ _

__He could hear Fenris, raggedly saying something between short desperate breaths, either in Tevinter else too far gone to be coherent. Sebastian rather hoped it was the latter._ _

__He felt Fenris’s body go suddenly rigid, as he pressed his tongue to the underside of the shaft, and started to suck, and as soon as the seed started to fill his mouth, drew back, knowing Fenris would be sensitive enough even the feel of soft lips upon him would be near unbearable. He swallowed, and looked over to where Fenris had slumped, sweat beading on his belly and chest. Even spent, the elf was determined, pulling himself up on one shoulder and looking back, though his eyes were hazed and his strength momentarily supressed._ _

__“That was… hmmmm….”_ _

__Sebastian laughed softly at Fenris’s pleased sound made in place of words, and carefully brought himself up the bed, so that he was face to face. He held an arm out, resting it upon the bed, and offering Fenris to lay his head down. A nod, and then the weight of Fenris’s head pinned his arm, soft hair spilling over the skin._ _

__Fenris shifted, and looked to Sebastian, flicking his eyes downwards meaningfully at Sebastian’s own unattended cock._ _

__“Do you wish me to…?” his voice was far-away, and he could not hide the weariness that cling to the words._ _

__“No, yeh should rest.” Sebastian saw the relief in Fenris’s face right away, and let that fulfil him, drawing his attention away from his own flesh. He consoled himself with the warm body lying beside him, flushed, and content. Pulling a thin sheet over them, he willed himself to think chaste thoughts, as he had done so many nights in the chantry dormitories, and if the days and long, long nights of neglect had not killed him, a few more hours would make no difference._ _

__***  
When he woke from the light sleep that had settled over him, he found Fenris stroking against the rough ridges of his finger, where bowstrings had worn the soft flesh away to tough callouses. He was facing the archer, and shifted backaways when he saw the change as breathing and posture as Sebastian came fully awake._ _

__Green eyes glanced up, and Fenris smiled, before going back to running his fingertips over the hardened areas._ _

__“To think I was so afraid of your touch... of your hands. I did not think they’d be so warm, and gentle. I did not imagine how _good_ they would feel.”_ _

__What should have been a soft and caring smile became awkward, as Sebastian tried to stifle a yawn, and then, when it re-emerged, adamant to stretch his face wide, settled for hiding it with the back of the hand Fenris was not currently fondling. Fenris tilted his head, and placed a light kiss to the knuckles, before lifting himself slightly, one elbow under him, head in the cup of his hand. He looked to Sebastian expectantly, and Sebastian fought to formulate a sensible sentence, rather than a sleep jumbled mess._ _

__“Ah’m glad you think so…” he said eventually, Fenris’s proximity, and lack of clothes, disorienting and distracting. His body ached, in the way that was to be expected after going to sleep without seeing to his own needs, but he was far too used to having to bite down his desires, pretend that all his thoughts were of the Maker and his light, to be surprised or particularly aggrieved by the full heavy sensation in his sac, the pressure in his cock like pressing upon a bruise._ _

__“Will… will you touch me again?”_ _

__Fenris’s plea reached him through the slow processing of his body’s urges and needs, and snapped both his mind and manhood to attention._ _

__In another bed, with another partner in his past, Sebastian might have plunged downwards, capturing the flesh and kissing and sucking merrily, or bit and nibbled till the skin reddened, but with Fenris it was different. It was not that he thought the elf unable to handle it, but rather he saw no need for haste, no need to devour all the most intimate experiences in a rush, as he would have if he only intended to make use of the bed for one night before moving on. No, he planned to stay, with Fenris for as long as the elf would have him. He wanted to taste every inch, but slowly, savouring like one would a fine Antivian wine. Not all at once either, else he felt his cock might explode, but it had to be done gradually, seeking out every nerve, finding which form of touch would draw out the sweetest sounds._ _

__He reached and let his outstretched fingers meet with Fenris’s at the back of his head, cupped round the back of the neck and settled the palm of his hand there, as if the Maker himself had designed them to match perfectly._ _

__He pulled forwards slightly, but moved himself to close the rest of the distance, so close he could see the anticipatory twitch of lips, as he brushed his other hand, thumb first, over cheek and corner of the mouth._ _

__“O’ course. After aw, ah have a promise tae keep.”_ _

__He watched as Fenris’s brow furrow briefly, then lift in exclamation as the elf recalled the conversation previously held and the promise that had been made._ _

__To hide the grin, that threatened to cause him to laugh out loud at Fenris’s expression, so perfectly balanced between surprise and unexpected lust, Sebastian leaned in and took Fenris’s lips in a kiss. He had intended to start slow, build up again gradually, but Fenris had already parted his lips, and the heat, and smoothness of his mouth left his tongue tingling._ _

__He pressed forwards, now reaching to lay a hand upon Fenris’s hip, and with the edge of his teeth teased Fenris’s bottom lip, pulling against the soft flesh, holding it._ _

__With another partner, he might have missed the low sound, but Fenris’s voice had a habit of striking across his senses, and he felt the half-moan strum down his spine as if it were a bowstring. He applied just a shade more pressure, if only to see if Fenris might make the noise again, the way it thrummed within him pleasant and addictive._ _

__Under his teeth, he felt the way the lip was warming, slickened with spit, and he dragged across the sensitive skin, letting his teeth come together with a bare audible click._ _

__“A man could get himself drunk on the taste of yeh…”_ _

__Embarrassed, or perhaps at a loss of what he ought to reply with, Fenris turned his head, but not quick enough to stop Sebastian bringing his head from round the back of the neck, and holding it against the soft skin of his cheek, keeping Fenris’s eyes meeting his own._ _

__“I mean it. Ne’er doubt what yeh do tae me…Look.” Sebastian twisted sideways, and showed that his hardening length, pushing against his smallclothes. Fenris did look, and as the green eyes took in the sight, he stretched a hand towards it, as if to verify the effect he could cause the archer._ _

__Shy fingers, that brushed up the outline his cock made under the thin fabric, stole his breath away, and he gave a long sigh at the contact of another’s hand on himself._ _

__Fenris reversed the way he held his hand, and brought his knuckles up against the flesh that felt too hot, every touch stoking the heat further. He wanted to roll his eyes shut, let himself enjoy the sensations, but he was too close to the edge to trust himself that he would be able to control himself, and not just spurt over Fenris’s hand like a randy teen._ _

__As Fenris carefully pulled his small clothes from him and flicked them over his ankles, Sebastian slid a hand down his body, joining thumb and forefinger around the root of his cock, tightening till the desired effect was achieved, and the impending mess was temporarily averted. He added his middle finger, extending it down till it rubbed the base of his sac, ready to press down should he need to increase his control over his cock. The pressure was intense, so close to pleasure it was almost painful, and Sebastian had to grit his teeth to keep himself from loosening his grip, and thrusting into the warm circle his hand made._ _

__It would be worth it, he told himself, to hold off. He had promised Fenris that he would attend to him, and to the void take him if he did not keep to his word. That perhaps Fenris would offer a different place to bury himself in, and properly release him from his vows did not sway him as much as he thought it might, no, Fenris’s enjoyment, sincere and heartfelt thanks for waiting upon Sebastian, would definitely have to come first._ _

__The elf in question was staring, and shot Sebastian a confused look. “What---? Why are you doing that?”_ _

__“Penance.” Sebastian said, in a voice that surprised him how smooth and clear it was. Yes, penance made sense, seemed right, given how he had treated Fenris._ _

__Something flickered behind Fenris’s eyes, as if he understood that Sebastian felt guilty still, that the tight ring of his hand was some measure of self-punishment. It did muddle the way forwards though, and Fenris halted his hand._ _

__“…yeh don’t have to stop…”_ _

__Fenris’s eyes were so wide he couldn’t hide the spike of interest, couldn’t pretend the thought of continuing to tease Sebastian even though each touch would border on torturous didn’t appeal. Sebastian gave another nod, himself liking the way Fenris’s gaze had turned primal and raw._ _

__Careful, almost reverent, Fenris spread his hand over the dip of his navel, combing through the hair there, downwards. It was more gentle than Sebastian expected, but he had no illusions that even the most light of strokes would test him, sensitised and aching._ _

__Fenris had moved down the bed, closer to his hardness, and while Sebastian could not reach to return the delightful caress and rub of fingertips on the elf’s cock, he could easily place his hand upon the back of Fenris’s neck. The was the slightest hint of an arch into the touch, and Sebastian was thankful for the white hair, weightlessly falling across the back of his hand, the softness keeping him from the temptation of pushing Fenris till his mouth was on him._ _

__Not that he needed a mouth, not when Fenris was using both the tips of his fingers, and the broad flat of his palm against his cock, the friction both delicious and burning, and like to drive Sebastian from his wits given time._ _

__“I can feel your blood in you, beating strong and sure.” Fenris whispered, “Makes me want you all the more. Want to feel your pulse frantic under my fingers, so breathless you can hardly speak.”_ _

__Sebastian felt it, the moment where but for the tight circle of his thumb and forefinger he’d have released. He pressed his fingers tighter, to hold them there, as he felt his body halted abruptly, and the low groan of want he could not bite back escape his lips. Fenris saw, he was sure, the way his testes clutched then sagged, and the elf did him a kindness and pulled back his hand. Sebastian was about to breathe a soft ‘thank you’ to Fenris, when he felt the shift of Fenris’s head. As the warrior shuffled down the bed, eyes bright and positively gleaming, and heavy breath rolling over his groin, Sebastian fought with the urge to move his over sensitized organ away, or closer, to feel the lips and tongue against him, wet and hot and perfect._ _

__Clenching his eyes shut, and locking his hand in place, he tried to steady his breathing, tried to ready himself for the coming sensations. His free hand, bereft of the soft white hair, grasped a handful of sheets, pulling them askew from the mattress._ _

__When the lapping of a tongue, not the press of heated lips against him did not occur, he creaked an eye open, to see Fenris peering back, waiting for a sign that he might have permission, as he himself had granted previously._ _

__Sebastian nodded, unable to form the words, and Fenris fell upon him, tongue and lips and heat. His hips arched from the bed, with such suddenness that Fenris had to put an arm across the flat of his stomach to prevent Sebastian’s bucking body causing either of them injury._ _

__The weight settled him, knowing that when it came to strength, Fenris would beat him every time. That he couldn’t move, couldn’t get away only served to heat his blood further, and Sebastian opened his mouth, allowing the raw rough sounds he’d been trying to mask loose._ _

__Between rasped gasps, he felt Fenris, between his legs, kissing lewdly at his hardened flesh. If his lyrium’d fingers had felt like burning, the soft slick heat of Fenris’s mouth was like the flame, searing his nerves, making his eyes prick with saltwater. He didn’t take Sebastian’s cock into his mouth, didn’t have to, those wet kisses with the pull of lips, and slight suction was rapidly undoing the archer. So very good, and fast approaching the point where he could bear no longer. There was a nibble of teeth against where his fingers held back his release, and he was lost._ _

__Sebastian’s breath became like a wild animal, and he struggled to catch and contain it, gasping out in uneven pants, lungs so tight it felt there was no room for fresh air._ _

__Fenris stopped, watching as Sebastian twisted upon the bed, gulping, and trying to speak even though breathless._ _

__“Oh Maker! Ah beg of yeh, please. Fenris, please. _Please_.”_ _

__Even Sebastian did not know if he was pleading for Fenris to stop, or continue. For mercy, for forgiveness, for release…. it did not matter. All he knew was through his haze, he saw Fenris sit back up, eyes dark and deep, and nodded._ _

__There was a moment of stillness, neither one able to speak. Words would be useless, to try and explain or express the gaze shared between the two, blue eyes locked onto green._ _

__He watched as Fenris moved to straddle him, mouth open and fingers so tight around himself he could feel the ache in the dexterous muscles, even hardened as they were by working a bow. The ache in his member, a steady throb of blood that seemed to reverberate across his whole lower half, promised that as soon as he removed his hand, release would follow seconds after. So he gripped. Flatting his hand against his belly as best he could, he gripped _tightly_ , so that he might as least manage more than a few fleeting seconds for Fenris._ _

__Fenris had taken the massage oil from the bedside, and had coated his hands, the lyrium glinting and the skin glistening. He must have seen that Sebastian could not reach to stretch him, on his back as he was, and rather preoccupied with willing himself calm, and so started to press his fingers behind, unseen, but the sound of oil on skin and slipping into hidden places unmistakable._ _

__“The next time,” Sebastian said, the wet noises hardly helping him to stave off his climax, “Ah would like to do that… Ah’d take ma time, pressing deep inside yeh, till the hot glide of ma fingers in an’ oot has yeh writhin’ upon ma hand.”_ _

__Fenris’s eyes took on a distant gaze, as if already imagining the next time, and his shoulder rolled as he moved his hand faster into himself. His lips were parted, and a dry raspy sound emitted, betraying how shallow and quick his breath had become._ _

__His erection jutted in front of him, flushed flesh dark against the lines of lyrium, tip glazed with a sheen of fluid. He let his other hand fall downwards, quickly coating Sebastian’s dick with oil, the touch ghostly, but still dragging a low noise Sebastian refused to think of as a whimper from the archer._ _

__Sebastian watched as Fenris’s chest rippled with the effort of breathing, of staying upright, knees either side of his hips, ass high and slick with oil. The lyrium tattoos seemed to dance under the tremor, and Sebastian knew neither of them would be able to hold off much longer._ _

__He nodded, feeling his hair damp against his brow, and lifted his free hand to Fenris’s hip, and, not pushing but encouraging, guided Fenris to start to lower onto him. As the head of his cock came to press against the ring of muscles, Sebastian jolted, a half cry falling from his lips._ _

__His voice was joined by a ragged moan, as he breached the entrance, tightness enveloping him, driving all semblance of thought from his mind, till there was just Fenris, and him, _ **heat**_. He knew that Fenris had the lean frame of an elf, and though the oil allowed him to slide in without friction he could not deny that Fenris was incredibly _snug_._ _

__He could feel, all around his erection, the clench and squeeze of muscles, the smooth silk of Fenris’s insides against him, the deep stutter of a diaphragm trying to draw breath into lungs that seemed to have forgotten how to process air._ _

__He would have lost the battle of mind over cock, if not for his fingers, circled around him and now, as Fenris lowered down his length, held trapped against the smoothness of Fenris’s ass._ _

__It was Fenris who moved first, extending his knees, then slipping downwards again with a groan, his own erection close to dripping. Sebastian reached out, hand released from Fenris’s hips, the elf needing no guiding hand, and flicked a single finger over the engorged head. Slowly, that Fenris might see, he brought it back to his lips, the sharp taste on his tongue granting him clarity._ _

__He set his feet flat on the bed, and gave his hips an experimental lift using his knees, testing the weight of the elf against the softness of the mattress. The bed seemed firm enough that he’d have something to push against, and Fenris took the cue to lift up on his knees, flexing his back to keep Sebastian’s cock inside him, held tight._ _

__He thrust upwards, hips lifting from the bed to sink deeper into that glorious heat, hand still clasped around himself, preventing him from ejaculating. He gave out a groan, part pleasured, part pained, matching Fenris’s own soft grunts as the elf was slowly filled to the brim, again and again and again._ _

__

__Shuddering, his knees started to lose strength, the sensation too much, and he pumped shallowly, till his legs gave out, and collapsed, unable to as much as twitch. He wanted to continue, to bring Fenris to completion, but his body rebelled against him, and he could not find the will to force himself onwards. Fenris kept balance on his knees, remarkably, and looked down upon Sebastian, sweat soaked and body shaking with want. He might have heard that Sebastian was trying to apologise, but Sebastian could not quite tell if the words he was mumbling made sense or not._ _

__Sebastian felt, rather than saw, frim fingers, nothing shy or light about the contact now, wrap around the wrist of his hand held around himself. With a gentle, but insistent tug, Fenris pulled Sebastian’s hand away, fingers entwined, and held them high. He placed a kiss upon the back, bending his head till all Sebastian could see was white hair, and feel the soft press of lips against his hand. Then, the hand was placed, with great deliberateness, on the bed, and far from the root of his aching cock, the full length of him unhindered._ _

__Grateful, but unable to speak, let alone voice the extent of his feelings, Sebastian let his body claim what it had been seeking, hips driving up in rapid uneven jerks. An exuberant cry filled the air, and Sebastian could not decide if it belonged to him or Fenris._ _

__The sudden squeeze of internal muscles on his cock, and then a hot wetness on his chest made Sebastian force his eyes open, and he saw Fenris twitching as the last of _his_ climax left him. A flush of colour that painted his sweat beaded skin in warm ones, contrasting against the lyrium, and the way his eyes became hazed, unfocused, his head tipping to the side, and Sebastian did not think he’d ever seen anything so beautiful._ _

__The force of his own spurting, quickly following, made him gasp, and he threw back his head, body rigid and arched as a bow, as finally, he found release._ _

__Then everything seemed to slow and still, his thoughts, his lungs freed to take in as much air as they needed, his blood ceasing to pound through his body, all muscles slack and boneless. Fenris twisted to the side and collapsed in a similarly spent heap beside him, and he luxuriated in the blissful warmth that filled him._ _

__When his damp skin started to chill, and the intense warm glow within did not seem to be able to overcome it, he pushed himself up, looking for something to clean both Fenris and himself with. He saw the white robe, torn, and bent to gather it up, figuring it better than using sheets. As he moved to wipe his chest with it, he heard Fenris gasp, and stopped, looking to see what the matter might be._ _

__“Not that!”_ _

__Sebastian looked down at the robe, and threw Fenris a questioning glance, cursing his mind for being too dulled by the recent exploits to make better sense of Fenris’s sudden exclamation._ _

__“Just… not that one.” Fenris offered weakly, glancing away._ _

__Sebastian looked to where the other items he had left had been placed, the arrow, and the oil, and then at the robe. He guessed it had been one he had worn, and that Fenris had kept it as memento. The tears through the fabric were testament that Fenris had been angry at times, violent, but had still kept it, close by, and Sebastian could almost see Fenris at night, alone, clutching the torn robe, bringing it to his face to try and inhale what might linger of Sebastian’s scent._ _

__He gave a soft sigh, and held the robe up. He made a show of looking it over, then bunched it up and threw it with force to the floor. Fenris looked shocked, and for a moment Sebastian could not tell whether he was going to get up and retrieve the piece of clothing. He didn’t give the elf the chance, wrapping his arms around and holding, secure, tight._ _

__“It’s just rags. Yeh don not need it anymore.” He placed a fingertip under Fenris’s chin and tipped his head up, and locked their gaze, silencing Fenris’s argument before it could be voiced. “Yeh do not need to keep such things, because yeh’ve got me now. Always.”_ _

__Fenris looked at him, then pressed his palms to Sebastian’s chest, hands finding where he could hold and fingers gripping, tightly, as if afraid to let go. Then, as Sebastian made no move to push him away, nor wriggle free of the clutching grasps, Fenris relaxed into the embrace._ _

__The shared body heat staved off the cold air momentarily, but soon Sebastian could feel his skin grow clammy. He gave a shiver, and felt Fenris move._ _

__Fenris unwrapped himself, and reached for where Sebastian had dropped the robe, and, with a nod to Sebastian, letting his actions take place of words that would be inadequate, pulled at one of the tears, till a sleeve came loose._ _

__Like a whisper, he dabbed it at himself, wiping the seed from him, as best he was able without water, then, moved to cleanse Sebastian as well. His touch was careful, but of Sebastian’s skin, rather than the robe. Once they were both as clean as they were going to get without making use of the washroom, Fenris tossed the spoiled material to the floor. Sebastian let his heavy head drop back to the pile of pillows, Fenris curling beside him, and pulled a sheet over them._ _

__Discarding the robe has been a simple gesture, but it lifted the last of the dark guilt that had surround Sebastian’s heart, knowing that Fenris believed him when he said he would stay. That he really did not have need of tokens._ _

__Sebastian felt complete, completed, and as Fenris’s breaths became slow and steady, knew that whatever had occurred previously, now, there was trust between them, solid and strong. Trust he could work on, with Fenris, and create something wonderful. After years of searching, he’d finally found a calling, a purpose, and he would make it his life’s work to keep and cherish it._ _

__He could think of nothing more worthwhile._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an optional epilogue still to come, featuring the what happens to the chantry and the fallout from that. It gets a little more dark as Sebastian copes, but I can promise a happy ending for Seb and Fenris.


	9. Epilogue - part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This optional epilogue contains the events of the chantry explosion. It gets a little dark as Sebastian copes, but I can promise Fenris and Seb get a happy ending.

It had not taken Varric long at all to begin to smirk into his ale, soon after Sebastian walked into the Hanged Man, with Fenris following behind him. The dwarf said nothing, didn’t need to, both he and Sebastian knew that he _knew_ , and that was enough for Varric to take on an air of smugness, as if he had orchestrated the details of the pairing between the archer and Fenris himself.

Fenris had been more than a little uncomfortable, being a private creature by nature, but Sebastian had taken him aside at the first available opportunity and argued for the dwarf. He explained that people would find out eventually, and, more importantly, that they had nothing to be ashamed of. 

He did wish that Fenris had discussed with him beforehand his plans, rather than the elf returning to the table, taking a delicate sip of wine, and then leaning over and kissing him full on the lips, in front of everyone. Sebastian had been too shocked to do anything other than blush, and he cursed that Fenris could ruin his usual composure so completely with nothing but a kiss. Still, it was worth it for the look on Isabella’s face. 

Sebastian had readied himself to fend off the comments about chastity and vows that he was sure would follow. However, something in the way Fenris glared, arms crossed and posture challenging, seemed to put off the collected group from saying anything more than ‘oh’, and in Varric’s case a quiet “’bout time.” 

And that was it. Hawke quickly accepted that if he was going out fighting he would be taking both Sebastian and Fenris or neither. Sebastian had a feeling that Anders had been less than delighted at this turn of events, still wary of Fenris from the incident in the Darktown sewers, and so had not been surprised when he found that Hawke called upon him less and less. Given that Hawke seemed to be dealing with bloodmages, and great demons, and more, Sebastian was actually quite glad that he and Fenris did not have to risk themselves.

Aveline kept her thoughts on their relationship to herself, but did start to ask Sebastian, repeatedly, to encourage Fenris to be a bit more mindful of his stolen mansion and not offend his Hightown neighbours on her behalf. Sebastian dutifully passed on her words, then when Fenris snorted in reply, said no more on the matter. Luckily, Sebastian had already taken steps to befriend and charm the nobles that had been on the cusp of lodging complaints about the drunken elf that lived nearby, his friendly and polite manner disarming them from their resentments. He’d made a show of entering and leaving, donned in his white and gold armour, and the sight of a human, who looked as if he ought to have such a fine house, seemed to settle the majority of the noble rabble. 

Merrill said little, having established long ago that neither Fenris nor Sebastian approved of her blood magic, and thusly, her. As if to make up for the Dalish’s silence, Isabella frequently made a lewd comment or five, but once, when Fenris had practically bristled at the mention of ‘sharing’, his lyrium tattoos glowing warningly, had given her a much deserved scare. So the sea wench had learnt to make sure that he was out of ear shot of her comments and observations in future. That didn’t spare Sebastian her inane chatter, but he could cope, _and_ not fall for the obvious ploy to gleam more details about their bedroom activities, much to Isabella’s dismay.

Varric, who would wink at Sebastian occasionally, seemed to think that without him Fenris and Sebastian might have never made a move towards each other, and though that was not strictly true, the notion seemed to please him, and so Sebastian decided to let the dwarf continue to believe that he was responsible for their happiness.

When not helping Hawke try to keep abreast of the rising tensions between mages and Templar in Kirkwall, Sebastian frequented the chantry. Though he spent his nights at Fenris’s mansion, he was welcomed. He did odds jobs, such as running errands and cleaning, and tending the gardens, reading the greenery for the hardship of the coming winter. He’d also begun a second copy of the Chant of Light. Fenris sometimes accompanied him in the evenings, and had sat watching, fascinated, as the archer conjured words and holy phrases from ink and parchment.

Sebastian had developed a habit of speaking out loud the words he was scribing, that Fenris might start to see how the sounds made shapes, and while the Chant was hardly the most simple of texts to learn to read with, Fenris seemed to appreciate the gesture.

He would work, till the candle burned low, and then walk with Fenris through the increasingly chilly autumn air back to the mansion he was started to see as home. They’d cleared the unwanted bodies and portraits, and dusted and mopped till the place looked less derelict. Of the multitude of rooms available, they only inhabited a few, and shared a bedroom.

It took Sebastian a while to get out of the habit of rising at dawn to attend to his chantry duties, but soon the lull of soft white hair upon his shoulder, and the warm press of skin again him, made Sebastian start to fully appreciate lie-ins with his lover.

They woke, sometimes the gentle caresses of morning turning into something altogether more energetic, and would discuss their plans for the day over breakfast, from a pantry better stocked now Sebastian had taken on the task of stocking enough food to prepare and cook nutritious enough meals for two men of battle.

Sebastian would usually go to the chantry, and see if there was anything that needed doing, and Fenris would manage the household, seeing to the dished, the laundry and chopping firewood. Soon, they fell into a routine where Fenris would meet Sebastian at the chantry, usually by mid-afternoon, as if the elf could not stand to be separated for more than a few hours at a time. 

In the privacy of his own mind, Sebastian was glad, as it meant he did not have to seek out the elf, when he himself started to miss the lyrium’d skin and bright green eyes.

Given that Hawke had become much too busy dealing with the politics between Orsino and Meredith, Sebastian and Fenris had decided to take the chantry board messages posted in the courtyard, all save for the ones that would be too dangerous to try and tackle by themselves, and complete them. Most were simple matters, locating a lost cat, clearing a cellar of rats, helping a baker who had injured his shoulder deliver his goods, and though the pay was generally what people could afford, Sebastian suspected that Fenris enjoyed the satisfaction in making another person happy almost as much as he did. That it reflected well upon the chantry was an added bonus.

The high cleric Ethane had commended Sebastian and his ‘friend’ on their hard work, and though she seemed disappointed that Sebastian had not gone to Starkhaven to reclaim the throne, she smiled often at the archer, and Fenris as well. Her disappointment that Sebastian had not strove for a higher purpose was offset by the sizeable donations Sebastian was known to make to the chantry coffers, and she could not begrudge the happiness of one of the Maker’s devoted.

Sebastian _was_ happy. He felt he was doing work that while not the most world changing, was making Kirkwall a better place, little by little. His bow was being used regularly, though more of a ward against conflict rather than actually having to face down whatever demons he’d be fighting if he were by Hawke’s side. Thugs and gang members tended to back down quickly, rather than cause trouble when confronted with an arrow aimed in their direction, and an elf pulling out from its sheaf a rather large sword, and when a fight did break out, Sebastian and Fenris made short work of the untrained fools.

At first he’d worried that he was forcing Fenris to join the chantry ideals without giving him a say in the matter, but it had been Fenris’s idea to address the mounting pile of unattended chantry board messages, perhaps spurred by the opportunity it gave him to continue welding his sword, just as Sebastian took pleasure in being able to make use of his bow, his weapon too much a part of himself to forsake. Also, when Sebastian had been held up with one of the frequent patrons he helped, an older lady who could talk the hind legs off of a bronco, Fenris had gone to the evening sermon by his own choice. Later, he had questions, which Sebastian was only to pleased to address. Though not always easy to answer, for example; ‘why does the Maker allow bad things to happen?’, Sebastian relished the discussions, and Fenris’s curiosity and interest in his faith.

And, if the riotous noise they made come sunset, even though it risked giving the neighbours new things to complain about, was any indication, Sebastian would guess that the elf enjoyed their night-time exploits as much as he did, the both of them often going to bed sweat-soaked, spent and satisfied.

It was a good life, and he did not want for anything. He had enough coin to buy fresh food and wine, and keep both their armours in good shape. He had work that occupied his time, and fulfilled him, and Fenris by his side. He could never remember such contentment, and his belief in the Maker grew, as he realised all he had ever wanted was his.

*******

It had been a cold day, when he and Fenris had finished finding the last of a stolen shipment of spices, and had returned them to their rightful owner. Moving the barrels had been hard work, and Sebastian was looking forward to a peaceful evening, perhaps with a heated bath to ease his worn muscles, and a glass of wine. And Fenris, all to himself.

He was smiling as they walked, eyes only mildly suggestive, when he saw that Fenris had stopped. He cocked his head, and heard it, shouting voices, and the bark of a mabari. It could have been anyone arguing in the streets, any dog joining in, but Sebastian had long since learnt that if there was any trouble in Kirkwall, sooner or later Hawke would be involved.

They turned off, heading to the Gallows, to find Meredith and Orsino screeching at each other, as had become a commonplace sight. Sebastian sighed, and hoped he would not have to go and fetch Ethane to sort the bickering pair out _again_ , the high cleric having better things to do than to mediate the on-going dispute of mage rights and city safety against the risk of blood magic.

Hawke, predictably, was there, hands up and trying to gain some silence that he might intervene. Narf-narf too, barked wildly, and hardly helping matters. The air was tense, unsettled, and Hawke’s usual collection of allies were keeping their distance watching for the side-lines. Aveline looked like she would very much like to arrest the senior enchanter and Templar knight, for causing such commotion, and even Varric seemed to have misplaced his usual easy-going smile, eyes sharp and nervous.

Fenris did not draw his sword, but Sebastian noted the way his hand went to the hilt, as if to double check it was there, just in case. He gave a nod, likewise checking his bow was in reach, his arrows primed and ready. They approached, carefully, so as not to make a bad situation any worse.

He saw Anders walk up, but Sebastian was too far away to hear what the mage said. Whatever the healer had said, it seemed to halt the argument, as both Meredith and Orsino turned on the healer, and Hawke had stepped forward, to place himself between them and his lover. 

Then, the sky started to burn.

He looked, and saw fire, and a bright blinding light that stung his eyes. It took a moment for Sebastian to realise the source, to comprehend that the pieces of falling rock and stone that crashed to the ground were of the chantry.

The air was thick with the sound of broken bricks, and screams, as fire and fragments fell upon the city and its people. 

Sebastian couldn’t breathe, as if he did not wish to take that fear-laden air into himself, and he watched, horrified, as he saw the empty space in the skyline where the chantry had once stood. All the people who would have been inside, his chantry brothers and sisters, Ethane herself, as well as any passing patron who had gone to pray…. people he would never see again, gone, in an instant.

He looked, to see Anders, unsurprised at the devastation, nod with finality and _knew_ the mage had had a part in the destruction. 

His feet were moving before he realised, and he was fast progress towards Anders, eyes full of fury. As he approached he heard as the healer gave Hawke explanation. Something about mage rights, about no other way, but Sebastian could not take in the words. As he came to face Anders, the mage fell quiet. Orsino was pale, Meredith awash in red that might have been the lights of the fires, or her own raised blood colouring her cheeks. They both, in a strange display of unity, moved backwards, as they took in the dark look in Sebastian’s eyes.

Hawke was standing, in shock, in horror, mouth open but no words apparent, and so Sebastian spoke;

“Why!? In the name of the Maker why…?” His voice demanding, a slight tremble he could not hide, as he struggled to speak, rather than just scream in rage.

“To move things forward, drastic action had to be taken. I will not apologise for doing what had to be done…” Anders had his head down, and spoke without looking to face the archer.   
“But for what it is worth, I am glad that you had left the chantry before I… before it…”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, and he took a step towards the mage, ignoring that Hawke had brought his daggers to hand, held high as if to strike. Unsurprising really, fighting had always come more naturally than diplomacy to Kirkwall’s champion, and Sebastian well knew that the gleam of metal was not for show, that Hawke could wield the blades with skill and deadly force. He did not let Hawke intimidate him however, too much was he focused on the mage, the _abomination_.

“Would it have made a blind bit o’ difference if Ah **had** been inside…?” Sebastian’s accent, seeped into his voice through anger rather than passion, and sounded harsher, rougher.

Anders looked up to meet Sebastian’s gaze, eyes red and wet; “No.”

Hawke moved then, standing between Anders and Sebastian, flicking his daggers in his hands, a clear warning against Sebastian’s anger, against any revenge he might try to take.

Knuckles clenched white, Sebastian turned sharply to the side, unable to look at Anders, knowing that Hawke would protect him from all repercussions. That Hawke would not allow him to get close enough to make Anders _pay_ for the lives he had taken, the lives he had ruined. 

Hawke’s rag-tag collection of companions stood, like the Gallows statues, and in their stillness invoking as much despair. Merrill clutched her staff, wide eyes full of fright. Varric, who had always seemed a decent sort, looked to Hawke, then Sebastian, taking in the silent plea for help in the prince’s eyes, and shook his head sadly. Isabella crossed her arms, resting both hands on the daggers at her belt, but Sebastian could tell she was using the gesture to hide the fact she was hugging herself. Even Aveline, the captain of the guard with a sense of honour Sebastian had oft admired, made no move against Anders.

By their faces, Sebastian could tell that not a one approved of Anders actions, but whether too loyal to Hawke, or too afraid of the champion’s wrath, no one seemed willing to stand up against the great atrocity that occurred. No-one, save himself. 

Fenris too, was there, though Sebastian had hardly saw the elf run forwards, too busy staring at Hawke, willing the champion not to be so blinded by his feelings for the mage that he would allow his actions to go unpunished. A hand, laced with lyrium, gripped frim upon his elbow, and urged him back, as if Fenris was afraid the presence of the abomination might warp and twist him. 

“Don’t.” Fenris whispered under his breath, on seeing Sebastian’s eyes so cold, feeling the tension in his body that shook with rage, causing his metal plates to rattle. Sebastian ignored the elf, too full of hate and hurt, knowing that if he did not act, the mage would be allowed to go on living, regardless of the death and blood he had caused.

He addressed Hawke, whose daggers were stilled raised, everything in his stance promising to use them if need be. Sebastian looked the champion of Kirkwall over, and knew he could not fight him. Not only because the man had helped him destroy his family’s murderers and he had sincerely sworn he would forever be grateful, but also because Hawke was too dangerous, too skilled in the ways of the blade, and Sebastian could not hope to win in combat. The others were right to fear his blades, they’d seen countless lives ended at those wicked points. He was glad in some ways, it kept him from throwing himself at Hawke and the mage, like so many foolish thugs, desperately grabbling for vengeance and blood, and instead gave him reason to focus his anger into his words. 

“Ah would request that you bring the mage tae stand for his crime… but ah fear Ah already know what answer you will give…”  
Hawke gave a short nod that Sebastian though correctly, that he would not give up Anders, even if the mage had just destroyed the chantry and all those inside. His jaw was clenched though, his lips tight and set into a frown.

“Then you leave me no choice. Turn him over, or I shall go back to Starkhaven, an’ return with an army. Ah will lay waste to Kirkwall till he is brought to pay for what he has done. Innocents will die in the street, while you protect this _monster_. Your wounded city would suffer, for sake of one man. It is in your hands.”

Hawke’s mouth fell open, and he gaped at Sebastian, at the cold words, and at the threat issued. 

“You would not do such a thing…” Hawke said, and Sebastian could tell he was hoping the archer would back down. Hoping he would turn a blind eyes, as he had so many other times, when corpses were looted, or Templars quietly despatched for doing nothing but the Maker’s work.

Sebastian straightened, feeling the pull of Fenris upon his arm, still there. He stood up to Hawke, and stared at the man.

“Do not doubt me Hawke. This is wrong, you and Ah both know it. Let us show the mage _true_ justice.” He paused, remembering that Hawke had said that he loved the healer, and that this could not be easy for him. The champion had lost his sister in the deep roads, and his mother to blood magic, it was small wonder he could not bare the thought of losing his lover also. He took a breath, and lowered his voice so that Anders, who was swaying in place and didn’t seem to be listening, would not hear;

“Ah shall grant him the mercy of a swift death.”

He had meant it as a favour, a kindness. He’d heard Anders often exclaim he’d rather be dead than tranquil, and after this, the best he could hope for if the Templars were to catch him would be a public execution, if not the brand. A quiet death, clean and quick, without the misery of containment till his fate was decided, or the torture that might occur, seemed the best way to ensure Anders could not hurt anyone again, as well as show him the mercy he had not thought fit to give those in the chantry.

Hawke’s face contorted in an animalistic rage, and his lips drew back to a snarl.

“You will not have him! Sebastian, I swear, if you so much touch him I will cut you down.” Then, in a hiss, “He is mine!”

Sebastian did not let the raging man, all flashing daggers and teeth, faze him, and he shrugged, shaking his head softly. He looked at Hawke, through the eyes narrowed to pinpricks, the words shouted in such fervour they almost lost their coherence, and held the fearful gaze. 

“Ah thought Ah’d at least give you the chance to do the right thing…” Sebastian’s voice was hard, and he watched as Hawke swallowed thickly, and then knew his words had cut deep into the champion’s heart. 

Hawke had always tried to do right for his adopted home city, and though he sometimes could be distracted by coin, or made the wrong joke at the wrong time, his intentions had always been respectable and righteous. When it came to Anders however, Hawke had sometimes strayed from his good intentions. There had been the time when Ella, a mage, had died at Justice’s hands, when Hawke had not been able to control or reason with the spirit. Though Anders had been remorseful, he had never been made to take responsibility, even though Aveline had wanted to treat the incident as a murder, and Varric wanted to at least let the family know that she was dead, rather than have them believe she had escaped to become an apostate, as the Templars had told them. Hawke had had the final say, and he had decided to cover the whole affair up, dumping the body in Darktown and refusing to say any more on the subject, to protect his lover. 

Forced now to make the choice between what was right, what was _just_ , and keeping his murderous mage safe from harm, Hawke had again chosen to be selfish, hardly the act of a champion. He could not hide this, could not deny the blood and death, seeping into the cobbles. He might had fought tooth and nail for Kirkwall, become respected, acknowledged, but no matter the great deeds, he was undermining them all by letting Anders live. 

And he knew it, knew he could not call himself a champion, not any more. 

Sebastian jerked his elbow from Fenris’s grasp then, and strode away, leaving Hawke bitter and resentful, and _hurt_ , small recompense for standing in the way of Sebastian’s retribution. It was enough, however, and Sebastian let his faith absorb his frustration and fury, and focused on taking one step after another, counting them as he walked.

Fenris followed, a pace behind, the elf silent, but Sebastian was too far lost to his anger to acknowledge that he had chosen to stay by his side, rather than by Hawke’s. When Sebastian had walked a good thirty paces, calmly stepping over a piece of burning rock, he turned. 

He saw Hawke reach to place a hand upon Anders’s shoulder, dagger still in in his grip, resting in amongst the feathers.

Hawke might have been quick, with eyes like his namesake, but he was distracted by the way Anders’s flinched from his touch, and the knowledge that he could never live up to the Champion that inhabited Varric’s stories and tales, and saw too late Sebastian bring his bow to hand and notch an arrow, the movement practiced, and smooth.

There was noise, all at once, the scrape of metal as Aveline drew her sword and lifted her shield, Narf-Narf’s thundering bark of distress. Varric’s cry urging Sebastian to think first, and Merril screaming shrilly at Anders to raise a magical shield. When the mage did nothing to move out the way or protect himself, Hawke gave him a frim shake, face twisting as he realised that Sebastian had walked far enough away that even with his best throw, his daggers could not reach him. 

“Do not loose that arrow….” He shouted, voice full of threat, as he watched Sebastian carefully aim the weapon at the apostate’s skull. 

Sebastian found he was breathing steadily, his focus clear and sharp and entirely fixed upon Anders. There was no shake to his fingers, no hesitation. As he drew the bowstring back as far as it would go, he did not see the way Fenris looked at Hawke, suddenly very much afraid. He did not hear Fenris draw his sword, nor acknowledge when Fenris moved behind him, sword raised high over his shoulder.

There was a flash of metal, the sound of a blade slicing through the air, and then Sebastian saw his arrow fall to the ground, the tension that had held it in place gone, his bowstring severed by Fenris’s sword.

He watched at his arrow clattered on the cobblestones, unbelieving.  
“What have you done?!” Sebastian’s voice was raised almost to a scream as he turned on Fenris, his weapon rendered useless, his chance to end make Anders pay for his terrible crimes gone.

“I am saving your life.” Fenris said, lowering his sword. He stood, as if expecting Sebastian to strike out, his feet planted firmly to absorb the blow. 

Sebastian could not speak, could not believe that Fenris would have done such a thing. Could not understand how his plan had come apart. Hawke had been neutralised, tricked into thinking that Sebastian’s cruel parting words had been the last of his stand against the champion, the truth of them distracting him from realising that Sebastian was, and had always been, an archer. His strength lay in his long distance attacks, as well as his words. Anders had been an easy target, almost welcoming the arrow. If he had only a second more, Anders would have been pierced with an arrow through the head, bleeding, _dead_. Furious, he looked up, willing the Maker that if he ever loved his people, to do something. Anything. 

Fenris placed a hand upon his shoulder, and pointed back to where Anders and Hawke stood. Sebastian, blood pounding, forced himself to breathe, rather than raise fist against Fenris. He lowered his bow, shoulders slumping as he accepted his defeat. Following the lyrium’d finger, Sebastian saw Anders, being shaken by Hawke, but making no move to hold himself strong. The mage seemed smaller, as if he had been crushed under the weight of the terror he had wrought. He saw Hawke, scared at the sight of Anders, scared of the arrow that had almost been launched, his face twisted into something bestial and dangerous.

Fenris breathed a soft sigh. He leaned forwards, so that his white haired head nearly touched Sebastian’s chest, even though Sebastian had upon him the look of the betrayed; “Hawke will kill you if you harm the mage, and I cannot, no, I _will_ not allow that to happen…”

One last look at Hawke, at that near-madness in the champion’s eyes, and Sebastian understood that what Fenris was saying was true. Part of him did not care, thinking that to see Anders dead he would gladly sacrifice himself. That he would face even the Hawke, if it meant that the lives lost were granted vengeance.

“Please… I need you.” It was no louder than a whisper but the words cut through Sebastian’s rage, and he turned to look at the green eyes staring at him.

Fenris, pleading, _frightened_ , and painfully right. To throw his life anyway was selfish, and not an option he could take anymore, not when he had made a pledge to Fenris, writ in flesh and feeling. Fenris had done what he needed to in order to save them both from Hawke’s wrath, and Sebastian could not find it in him to hate him for it. But neither could he forget that Anders would walk away, because of what Fenris had done.

Bowstring cut, and his world in pieces around him, Sebastian started to fall to his knees. Before the ground jarred his body, Fenris caught him, clutching him tightly. A shift of his head upwards, looking to make sure Hawke kept his distance, the danger of Sebastian’s arrows removed.

Hawke was preoccupied, dragging Anders behind him as he shouted that both Meredith and Orsino were crazy, that they could damn well sort this mess out themselves.

Templars and mages alike seemed to appear to fill the space, and magic and blades clashed. Hawke was forced to attack, to defend. Sebastian and Fenris were far enough away that they were ignored (though Fenris’s drawn sword, held up as a warning to anyone stupid enough to try and attack the lyrium’d warrior and the archer he protected might have had something to do with that). After Sebastian’s actions, they were not asked for their assistance in the battle that Meredith was promising the magi. Hawke reluctantly seemed to side with the Templar knight, on the grounds that Anders would be spared. Meredith had agreed, or appeared to, and Hawke had rallied his allies, even Merrill meekly following to wage war her fellow magi.

The last he saw of Anders, was Hawke practically hauling him forwards, every step the mage took a struggle. It was not the sight of a pair of triumphant heroes, going up against the odds for the good of their city, but a set of robes in the shape of a man, and the other, a skilled rogue who would fight but didn’t know what for anymore. 

He could still hear the cries, and grind of stone upon stone, but it all seemed distant, unreal. Sebastian looked at his useless bow, and felt the same in himself. He might be able to replace the bowstring, but finding a place and a purpose to fill the void opening in his heart would not be as simple a matter.

He clenched a fist, and hammered in down on the cobblestones, the pain rattling up his arm. Again, and again, till he could feel his hand swell, bruised and scraped.

He sobbed, and then, when he could not bring himself to pound his hand down again, gave out an anguished howl.

Fenris sat nearby, hand on the back of his shoulder, but saying and doing nothing more. Perhaps too frightened to try and intervene, or perhaps he understood that Sebastian _needed_ to let his rage be known, lest he try and again assassinate the mage, ensuring that Hawke would cut back, swift and sure and deadly.

“It’s all gone. Ethane, the chantry sisters and brothers…. The one beacon of the Maker’s light in this forsaken city… all gone….” Sebastian’s voice would have made his father cringe, so weak and pathetic, the voice of a devastated man. He was crying, he realised, as tears fell from his eyes, splashing against his armour.

“It is not safe here. We should go…” the elf’s words were non-judgmental of Sebastian’s tears, but reluctantly urgent. As if to make Fenris’s point, they both heard the inhuman roar of a demon that shook the earth, as if the city itself was falling to pieces. 

“To what end?” Sebastian asked, both of the elf at his side and the Maker above. “There is no chantry, no hope for Kirkwall. The magi and Templars will tear each other apart, and not give a damn the innocents caught in the middle. Everything we have worked for, everything we have done, it has all been for nothing.”

“So you will just sit there, and let yourself become a casualty?” Fenris’s voice had taken on an edge, tinged with his unease at being out in the open with all manner of magics and maliciousness in the air.

Sebastian shrugged; “Why not. I have nothing left, nothing at all.”

Sebastian was not prepared for the pair of hands that fell upon his shoulder, but he was too miserable to defend himself, to try and twist from their grip. He looked up, to see Fenris kneel in front of him, hands either side of his neck, forcing the archer to see him.

“You have me.” he said quietly, “You have me. Always.”

Sebastian blinked, then gave a nod. He would have liked to smile, to show Fenris his gratitude in making him see sense, but his lips felt so tight they might spilt if he tried. He settled for lifting a hand, and squeezing it across Fenris’s. It was a thin ray of light, into his dark thoughts and devastation, but it was enough to grant him strength to stand, and continue onwards. 

He got to his feet, and looked across the streets to where the mansion lay. It seemed the fires had not reached there yet, and they would have time to collect some supplies before the riots and fighting consumed the houses. 

“Very well. I think we should gather what we can and get ourselves as far from here as possible. Out of Kirkwall. I don’t fancy much staying to watch the city turn on itself, and I fear your lyrium tattoos will make you a target. To both sides.”

Fenris nodded and rose, and started towards the mansion. “Agreed. If we are quick, we might be able to get passage on a ship before they all set sail. It’d be the fastest way to get out from the city.”

Fenris took a step towards the rest of Hightown, and Sebastian paused. He said nothing as he bent and collected the fallen arrow, too much habit preventing him from leaving behind one of his weapons. He turned it, so the point was addressing the sky, and added it back to his quiver, able to tell it from the others. Then he followed Fenris.

As they walked, a brisk pace, weapons (Sebastian had a dagger, though he knew the blade a poor substitute for his bow) at the ready, Sebastian saw many more with various arms out on the streets. The tension that had been allowed to fester over the years finally breaking free, the citizens of the city scared and violent, and ready to attack any threat. Luckily, between Sebastian’s armour, and Fenris’s sharp glare, most still had the sense to steer clear of the pair as they made their way to the mansion.

Fenris, who had practice in gathering his possessions in a hurry, said he’d see to their clothes and weapons, if Sebastian would collect anything likely to fetch coin. The archer took several silver candlesticks, easy to bundle together and carry, and his extra daggers, finely made and worth at least ten gold, though he doubted he’d get more than two in times such as these. He also took what biscuits, cheese and bread he could fit into a rough cloth sack, and slung it over his shoulder, heading to the door. While he waited for Fenris to emerge from the bedroom, he restrung his bow.

His grandfather’s bow felt reassuring in his hand, and the act of making it a formidable weapon once more calmed the rising sense of feeling overwhelmed, and lost. He replaced the bow alongside the quiver, shifting the weight of the candlesticks so it would not impeded his arm in reaching the bow should he need to.

Fenris appeared, and handled a second bag to Sebastian, carrying two himself, and they left.

Sebastian might have liked a chance to look over his home of the last weeks, to make use of the bed one last time, but the noise outside was decidedly unfriendly, and it made sense not to linger. 

The docks were suffering, panicking people everywhere, the fires spreading fast. Sebastian managed to see a boat in the final processes of casting off, and jumped onto to deck.

It took a brief heated argument, stopped short as the captain saw Fenris’s sword, and Sebastian’s bow, and decided that he’d rather take the coin Sebastian offered (half of what they had collected for two days work retrieving stolen spices), than have to try and force them off his ship. They were sent below, so as not to be in the way, and with a cry of “Away from this madness!”, the ship heaved into the waters, and left Kirkwall.

There were many people in the hold, wide eyed, clutching at each other and their valuables, the stink of fear high in the air. A quick discussion with someone not in so much shock revealed that they were heading for a port, nearby, half a day’s sailing away, where the captain had told them they could either wait it out till Kirkwall regained its senses, or find another boat to take them further. There was no food, no cargo, nothing but people, and Sebastian and Fenris had to stand.

There were whispers, desperate echoes, passed back and forth till they became ludicrous; saying that Anders had turned into a dragon to lay siege to the chantry, that Meredith brought statues to life to attack her own Templars, that Orsino resorted to blood magic and transformed into an abomination. That Hawke had fought and died, or fought and survived, or that he had simply vanished in a puff of smoke and left the city to its fate. 

No one seemed to have clear idea of the events that had happened after Fenris and Sebastian had last seen the champion, but the snippets and pieces of rumour told a bleak tale of chaos and death.

Every so often, Fenris had looked to Sebastian, mouth parting as if to speak, but each time his words failed to come. Sebastian, taunt and tensed, ignored him, focusing instead on holding onto that small sliver of self-control that was all that kept him standing.

He felt like he had cheated death, by not being within the chantry walls when the explosion had hit, but he felt no joy at the gift on his continued existence. It felt like a punishment, that he had failed to stop Anders, failed to see the evil… To think he had even trusted the mage to heal him, letting his magics touch him, unrestrained by the Templar’s control. He had thought the cramped and often crowded clinic was perhaps a sign the apostate was not as terrible as he at first seemed, that there was some good to be found, past the mad ravings about mage rights and demonic glow of the spirit. He had even gone so far as to brave the Darktown sewers to aid in collecting his void-taken regents…

Suddenly, Sebastian gave a groan, and Fenris looked up sharply, while those around then flinched from the noise.

“No…” Sebastian whispered, and cursed himself for being such a fool. The sela petrae, dredged from the shit of Kirkwall. Anders had warned them of touching it with bare hands, saying it would burn the skin. The caustic substance could have no medicinal value, and he remembered the way Anders had been so elusive on its use. Now, hindsight granted him the truth, and it made him sick to his stomach. Worse than failing to see Anders as the demon he was, was that he himself had actively helped the man gather ingredients to destroy the chantry. His chantry. His life.

He blinked, rapidly, but the tears he ought to shed would not come. He clenched his hands to fists, and let the slow tide of despair wash over him.

Fenris was there, saying something, but he could not hear. Sebastian simply shook his head, and fell silent, the last of his inner reserves having left him. He made no attempt to try to fight against it, did not try to shore up his strength, not when he felt he had failed so completely to protect Elthina, and had even had an hand in her death. Out on the sea, heading to an unknown port, Sebastian felt truly adrift.

***

As he slowly departed the boat once it had reached its destination, putting one step in front of the other, his head hung low, he had to rely on Fenris to find them an inn. He was too worn, too lost to be of much assistance, and though he would have normally argued the price the innkeep quoted them, challenging why he thought it fair to charge those in need more just because he could, he held his tongue, and let Fenris pay him triple what the room would have been on any other day. 

It did not occur to him, even as Fenris took his hand and led him up to the room they’d bought, that he wore the exact same look, that of a dead man walking, as Anders had.

A door was closed, and Fenris toyed with the key, a simple piece of metal Sebastian would have no trouble mimicking with two lengths of wire. The elf turned to Sebastian, concerned; “I… I think you need time… and I understand. You have been through a lot. I shall go get us a hot meal, and, when you are ready, we can talk.” Fenris’s tone did not sound as calm as usual, though Sebastian could tell he was trying to keep his voice level and reassuring.

Fenris lingered at the doorway, as if hopeful Sebastian might make a reply, but the archer said nothing, his gaze firmly cast downwards.

Time passed, and Sebastian took a seat while he waited for Fenris to return. He heard footsteps on the stair, but there were too many, and too uneven to be the elf. More likely a mother herding children, he thought, and the quick chatter of a boy proclaiming that ‘Momma shouldn’t be so sad, this is an _adventure_.’ outside his door attested to his theory. 

He gave a thin smile at the optimistic ignorance of the young, and glanced out the window, his surroundings slowly starting to filter through the fog of his depression. It was a dockside town, much like any other, though he did not recognise the particular layout of the houses and shops. Barrels were everywhere, their purpose ranging from everything from rainwater collection to serving as makeshift tables and chairs, a use found for even those so old that liquid would leak from. Unlike Kirkwall, those unfit for even providing seating had been removed, likely to have been broken down and chopped for firewood, instead of littering the streets. There were colourful lanterns lit, the different colours seeming to indicate which building was an inn, a shop or a public house. Dusk was falling, but the darkness did not seem sinister. 

The walkways and so-called roads might not have been more than well-trodden dirt paths, but there was no sign of blood sunk deep under the ground, no sense of foreboding that had seemed so much a part of Kirkwall. That city of chains seemed never to forget or forgive its denizens that its stones had been built on the bones of slaves.

Outside the window, the dockside town was opening wide its doors for the refugees, accepting them and their coin, and listening to the tales of Kirkwall’s fall. The sea that separated the locals from the doomed city, was far enough downwind that the smell of salt was not so strong as to sting the nose, and within the inn someone had taken the time to burn herbs to mask the smell of the fish that Sebastian suspected would be unpleasant otherwise. He took in the air, deep within himself, and let it clear his lungs. Here was pleasant, peaceful, and as good as place as any to die.

////  
He had decided when he had realised about the sela petrae, that he would end his life and offer it to the Maker, to attempt to make amends for failing Elthina so completely. The sin of the act, minor in comparison to aiding the abomination, for not handing Anders over to the Templars as he was first inclined. Hawke’s assurances, and seeing the mage run the crowded free clinic, had caused him to hesitate, and give Anders the benefit of the doubt. 

He would not be hesitant now, it would be easy to take his dagger and plunge it into his neck. He had thought about using the arrow upturned in his quiver, the one meant for the abomination, but practically outweighed the appeal of finally granting the weapon blood. He _could _place it at his throat, and push himself forward into a wall, he supposed, but the chance of cutting deep enough to kill quickly was slim, and he did not much fancy dying slowly, nor risk the chance of being found, of being healed. He knew his dagger was sharp, the edge meticulously cared for, and he would not need long to do damage enough to himself that he would be beyond repair.__

__Fenris, however, gave him reason to delay._ _

__He had no doubts that his actions would hurt Fenris, but he could not live with himself, and Fenris deserved better than to be tied to a broken man such as he. While he could not find cause to go on, Fenris would, eventually, as the elf was much stronger than himself. Sebastian was aware, as he turned the thought over in his mind, considering the merits of disappearing into the night, that he was in danger of repeating his past mistakes, and he recalled the promise he made to Fenris, and himself, that he’d not leave the elf again._ _

__He loved the elf, and owed it to him to say goodbye properly. A letter would be unsuitable, as Fenris could not read, but if he was not careful with his words, Fenris would be able to see through to his true intent, and try to stop him. Sebastian knew he’d have to be crafty, verging on dishonest, and it pained him to think of using his deceitful skills with Fenris._ _

__Sebastian pursed his lips, and, with the control learnt from mastering his face and expression, softened his eyes, and repeatedly curled the corners of his mouth, till the smile he placed on his face felt settled._ _

__Fenris returned, with two bowls of steaming stew, to find Sebastian sitting upright, and smiling. The relief he showed, in the slightly parted lips and the brightness to his eyes, stung at Sebastian, but he did not let that show, and he did not let it displace his carefully constructed mask._ _

__“My thanks.” He said, as he reached for the bowl, blowing on the spoon before tasting the stew. It was thin, likely had been watered down to accommodate the sudden influx of people, but it was wholesome, and the heat was welcome to fill his stomach._ _

__They ate in silence, Fenris again occasionally pausing as if to say something, but losing his nerve each time. Sebastian was grateful; conversation would only complicate things, and the fewer words he could exchange, the better. He made an approving sound at the stew, and finished the bowl, his spoon clattering as he placed it upon the table. He saw Fenris note the detail, and give a slight nod to himself, before finishing his own._ _

__“I feel I must apologise. I allowed my grief to best me.” Sebastian began, forcing his voice into a confident cadence, purposefully using the past tense to lead Fenris to believe that he thought differently now._ _

__“Understandable.” Fenris seemed more comfortable, now that Sebastian was talking, was looking less like a broken man._ _

__Sebastian let the pause grow, till Fenris shuffled in his seat. Predictably, the elf moved to fill the silence; “So… what shall we do next?”_ _

__“Do we have to think of that tonight?” Sebastian took on a pleading tone, “So much has happened, why don’t we head to bed, and think on our plans come the morrow.” He looked to the bed, small, but clean, and gave Fenris a slow look up and down._ _

__The heat of the gaze surprised Fenris, and he shifted nervously. That he was not used to handling difficult situations was clear, no words of comfort came easily to him. Still, Sebastian knew as he reached to undo his chest plate with deliberate care, the elf would be hard pressed to deny him, especially as he gave his lips a lick that made them gleam._ _

__“Are… are you sure? As you said, we have been through so much… I do not want to… rush…” Fenris’s voice faltered, as Sebastian ran a hand down his breeches in a shameless display, clawing his hand as he pulled it back up, tantalisingly close to his groin._ _

__If Fenris saw that Sebastian’s cock was not showing the same signs of arousal that the archer was hinting at, it did not stop him stepping round the table, to press his lips against Sebastian’s, gently mouthing, his breath warm._ _

__He made a soft noise into the kiss, murmuring his appreciation of the taste of the elf, succulent, the way their tongues slid against one another, as if in some complicated dance, neither dominating, sharing both breath and power. Sebastian pressed his lips harder against Fenris, his hands coming up to rest upon shoulder and hip, his height meaning he had to bend his head, and Fenris had to stretch his neck._ _

__He was so close he could smell Fenris, smell the smoke of Kirkwall and the stagnant air of the hold on him still, but underneath that crisp scent of lyrium, and the expected smell of armour, well used and cared for, the beeswax Fenris used to keep the leathers subtle leaving a musky odour._ _

__He ran a hand up Fenris’s back, feeling each of the ridges of the armour, and carded his fingers through Fenris’s hair, soft, and purest white. He looked, to see green eyes grow hazy, to see the warrior, trained and battled honed, relax._ _

__Sebastian let his eyes slip closed, and steeled himself. This, this was how he wanted to say goodbye, with his body, for his words might only betray him. It seemed apt, that he and Fenris should join one last time, for it was through touch that they had come together. Though they had spent many nights together, each caress still set a line of fire down his nerves. He might have spent a good portion of his youth bedding anyone that took his fancy, but with Fenris it was different. Now, even the smallest stroke against his clothed shoulder excited him, made his skin tingle, and his heart beat strong._ _

__However, even with Fenris’s body pressed tight to his, eliciting those wondrous sensations, he could not react as he wished. The knowledge that this would be the last time chilled him to the core, and his guilt at failing Elthina weighted heavily upon him, and prevented him from hardening. Given time, Fenris would surely notice, and question it. Worse, he might stop, might want to _talk_ about it. Sebastian tensed, briefly, and quickly thought about his options. _ _

__With a tight smile, that hid his clenched jaw and teeth, he moved till his mouth was next to Fenris’s ear, making sure he was close enough that even his breath would be felt._ _

__“I want you. I want you _inside_ me.” he let his words settle, then, as he felt the elf shiver at the prospect he whispered; “Take me.”_ _

__He knew that Fenris’s eyes would be wide, and full and dark. The hands upon him gripped, and started to reach for the remaining buckles of his armour, and Sebastian took a step back._ _

__“Wait. Oil… did you pack it?”_ _

__Fenris blushed, and nodded. Sebastian chuckled, “Best get it now, before we continue….”_ _

__Fenris then moved to the bag he’d taken from the mansion, and rummaged down the side. As he did, Sebastian undressed himself, carefully turning so that Fenris would not see him, flaccid and limp. He gave a disappointed look down at himself, then settled himself belly down on the bed, laying his undershirt under him._ _

__Fenris, a glass bottle clinking in his gauntleted hand, made a surprised noise at how quickly Sebastian had set himself down. He walked round the bed, undoing the straps to his own armour, and looked Sebastian over._ _

__With his hand, now dressed down to the lyrium, he stroked between Sebastian’s shoulder-blades._ _

__“Are you _sure_ you are feeling like yourself…? You are not usually so… hasty….”_ _

__“Who could blame me for being eager?” Sebastian gave another sultry smile, over his shoulder, and hoped Fenris would not pick up the obvious deflection. He reached, and cupped his hand down the curve of Fenris’s behind, giving a squeeze and pulling the elf closer. Fenris, practically growling at the sight of the archer laid bare across the bed, waiting, _ready_ , yanked at the remaining fastenings till his chest and arms were free. He paused every now and then in his frantic undressing to rub his palm up and down the expanse of Sebastian’s back, fingers splayed, smoothing over the spine. _ _

__Under the armour that he wore near constantly, Sebastian was pale, with a dash of colour across his shoulders where a faint covering of freckles graced his cream-coloured skin. He could feel Fenris’s hand, the fingers strong, the touch confident, running over skin the elf had long since mapped out. They had learnt each other, the lessons often stretching into the dark hours of night, and just as Sebastian knew where Fenris was most sensitive, the best spot to stroke and tease, the perfect place to bite, Fenris knew that the line of Sebastian’s spine was particularly prone to pleasant goose bumps when he applied his fingernails lightly._ _

__Four dragged lines, that caused Sebastian’s spine to arch, awakened his skin, jangling his nerves. They were followed by four more, this time scoring across his back in a way that made him shiver. Though his groin was still unresponsive, he could enjoy the sharp pain/pleasure of Fenris applying his fingernails, in slow, sensuous sweeps._ _

__Sebastian made a show of curling his back to meet the points of hard nail, of making a low noise at the back of his throat he hoped Fenris would take as arousal. It was harder than he had anticipated to fake it, the sounds seeming jarring and forced, his movements contrived. Fenris, for his part, seemed to recognise something was wrong, and had slowed down his movements, to a near maddening pace, and Sebastian found his patience wearing thin._ _

__“Please…” he whispered, “ _Please_ Fenris…” he had to fight to resist sighing with relief as he heard Fenris pop the cork from the bottle of oil._ _

__Slick fingers pressed into him, slowly opening him. It was gentle, and Sebastian had to admire Fenris’s restraint and care he took with the task. Even as the oiled tips brushed against the lump inside though, he felt no stirring, no spark of sensation that would urge his cock to swell. He felt detached, from his body, from the events of the day, all that he knew was what he intended to do, and it kept him from enjoying the feel of Fenris carefully preparing him, stretching and sliding._ _

__Fenris must have noticed how unresponsive Sebastian was being, normally his rich accented voice filled the air as they coupled, and his hands were rarely so still. Fenris bent down and kissed the back of Sebastian’s neck, tenderly sucking just so. A brush of teeth, and the raw heat of his mouth, and Sebastian breathed out a soft noise, the gentleness of the elf pulling a genuine appreciative sound from him. Fenris, whose laugh was rare, and precious, chuckled and reached a hand to grasp Sebastian’s cock. Sebastian batted it away, then, as Fenris stopped, confused, turned to look the elf in the eye._ _

__“Don’t need it… just the feeling of you, so deep. It’d be enough, Maker, more than enough. Let me _feel_ you. Fenris, please… fuck me.”_ _

__He felt the huff of air roll over his shoulders, and Fenris quickly move to kneel behind him. Sebastian kept his face hidden by his arms, stretched out in front of him, and spread his knees apart, ass raised but body low so Fenris would not see the limp length hanging between his legs._ _

__Sebastian had thought himself well versed in the act of love making, but over the last few weeks, he’d learnt some new tricks. He’d discovered how to focus his muscles, and clench, squeezing the length inside him and how to flutter his diaphragm, that Fenris might feel the vibrations coming from within him. He waited till the initial push of Fenris’s hardness into him had eased, the burn ebbing to mere heat spreading through his body, and then tightened himself. The groan that followed, a low long sound, pleased him, more than the actual friction of flesh upon flesh._ _

__There were times when Fenris’s touch could put a butterfly to shame, with ghostly caresses so light Sebastian could sometimes hardly tell they were there at all, but this time, urged on by Sebastian’s plea, Fenris was powerful, _hard_. Sebastian felt his body rock, each thrust reaching deep inside him, and he had to push against his arms to keep his position. He let each breath sound, the repetitive grunts growing louder, as he felt Fenris’s rhythm become unsteady, the drive of his hips so forceful it rattled his bones._ _

__He felt the warmth inside him, as Fenris stuttered to a stop, and he gave a soft ‘uh’, clenching tight and then tipping forwards. Fenris rolled from him, and Sebastian bunched his undershirt, pretending that he had spent into it, and then attended his behind. The mummers façade over with, Sebastian dumped the shirt to the ground, and lay beside Fenris, listening to the elf’s breaths grow long, and deep._ _

__“Love you.” Sebastian murmured, his chest tight, and unable to hide the frown on his face. Fenris though, had closed his eyes, muttering sleepily and curling into Sebastian and the sheets._ _

__Sebastian waited until Fenris had fallen asleep, then carefully slipped his arm free. He got to his feet, and dressed, checking back every so often to ensure the Fenris remained in the fade’s hold. Once he had a pair of trews, and a shirt thick enough to keep the chill of the night air from him, he gathered his dagger._ _

__It glinted in the light, testament to its edge, and Sebastian nodded to himself sadly. He was about to leave, when he turned to cast his eyes over Fenris one last time. He could not resist stroking his hand to move the strands of white from the elf’s eyes, and placing a light kiss upon the exposed cheek._ _

__With a quietness that Hawke had never managed to emulate, Sebastian crept from the room._ _

__***  
He did not know the town, but he wanted to walk, to try and find a chantry or the closest thing, and say a prayer. The night was still, and the streets empty, so there was no one to ask directions. Instead, Sebastian wandered the dirt-paths, till he found the chantry board, outside a small building with a white lantern. _ _

__A causal glance over the board revealed much less challenging tasks; assistance requested to paint a ship’s figurehead, a reward offered for the sourcing of some lumber suitable for making a bed, mundane, and with no mention of murderous blood thralls or wild beasts. Sebastian smiled, Fenris might be bored to tears attending such tasks, but he’d be safe, should he choose to stay._ _

__The thought of Fenris made him stop. The sensation in his gut, an empty pain, as if he’d swallowed nothing but glass, that had started from when he realised about the sela petrae, was all that kept him from turning on his heel, and heading back to the inn. He could see no other way to stop the pain, than to take his life._ _

__A shuffling set of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts, and too many incidences in Kirkwall had him bringing his dagger to hand as a reflex. The man, greying hair and an odd uneven gait, stopped, and put up his hands._ _

__“Easy there. Didn’t mean to startle you… just out for some fresh air. Let me guess, Kirkwaller?” His voice was less frantic that Sebastian would have expected, from someone finding an armed man out in the middle of the night, and the man made no move to back away._ _

__Sebastian gave a nod, lowering his dagger. He watched as the man came to the chantry board, and leaned against it, before tilting his chin at the chantry building._ _

__“Ah. It won’t be open, I’m afraid. When Sister Henrietta heard about what happened in your town, well she did gather up all those twiddling their thumbs now that harvest is over, and took the lot of them by cart off to help with the rebuilding.”_ _

__“Rebuilding….?” Sebastian could hear the surprise in his voice, the idea that anyone could be so stupid as to willingly go to Kirkwall astounding him._ _

__“Of course!” The man seemed equally shocked that Sebastian could think that a simple chantry sister venturing into the battlegrounds was anything but expected. “Kirkwall needs a chantry, and the peoples moreso. And there’ll be houses to put to rights as well I imagine. From here tell, there’s plenty work needing done.”_ _

__“But… it will be dangerous. Kirkwall’s not safe!”_ _

__The man gave a grunt; “Never has been. If its not qunari, or slave revolts, its another thing. Yet it still stands. The people won’t let it fall; they will haul and hold up the stone, till the city remembers itself again. Sometimes though, they might need a little help, and Sister Henrietta, well, she figured that by the time she got there, those mages and templars will have sorted their differences.”_ _

__“I… I hope so.” Sebastian offered, marvelling at the sheer faith of a sister he had never met._ _

__“What of yourself? Your accent marks you as not originally of Kirkwall. And you must have seen some terrible things, will you be planning to go back?”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__“Oh… then where will you go?” The man showed genuine enough curiosity, and Sebastian could well understand, Kirkwall’s disaster was probably one of the most interesting things to happen anywhere near the dockside town, and the influx of new faces would be a great source of interest for the locals._ _

__“I…” Sebastian faltered, unsure of what to say, then raised his head, “I am going home.” He said, simply, the dagger in his hand a weight he could not forget._ _

__The man gave a nod, “That’s fair. I tried travel, back when I was a lad. Didn’t get too far though; found myself missing this backwater burgh too much. Where do you hale from?”_ _

__“Starkhaven.”_ _

__“Ah. Maker favours you, my lad. There’s a boat, due to leave in the next day or two, heading to Minanter River. Faster than traveling across the lands, and you’ll get barge to run you up the river to on to Starkhaven. Cammy’s the captain, and you tell him I sent you, he’ll give you a fair price, or I’ll box his ears. I’m Jameson, and the boat’s called the Filigree Fish. Its got a gold fish figurehead, that looks a bit like my wife.”_ _

__Sebastian fell silent, not wanting to offend the man trying so hard to help, but also not wanting the names of ships sailing to Starkhaven, when he had no intention of surviving the night._ _

__“I thank you.” He spoke curtly, and looked back to the chantry, walking up and kneeling on the steps, hoping the man would take the hint and leave him to pray._ _

__“I’ll be off then, bed is beckoning…and the Misses. Take care of yourself now.”_ _

__Sebastian felt the man’s parting words sting him (Hawke had often spoke of ‘taking care’ of their enemies), but he said nothing more. He waited till the shuffling footfalls had faded. Laying the dagger before him, that he might clasp his hands together, he searched for words. He could think of none, and so quietly recited one of the canticles of Andraste, regarding her faith and bravery in the face of death._ _

__When he had finished, he got to his feet, and picked up the dagger, the metal seeming colder and heavier. He looked about him, and though there was no one even awake save for him at this time of night, he did not like the thought of someone looking out their window and spotting him. However, the chantry stood, a little way apart from the surround buildings, and the space between the walls was secluded, and out of immediate sight. He nodded to himself, and slipped into the dark, where the lantern light could not touch, and swallowed._ _

__His hand shook, and it took several breaths to steady it, to clear his mind and ready himself. Sebastian had snuffed the light from the eyes of countless enemies, he knew too well how simple a matter it was to rend soul from the flesh, how fleeting the spark of life was. Yet when it came to himself... it seemed… anticlimactic._ _

__He raised the dagger, and found the side of his neck, where the windpipe would not hinder or catch the blade. He turned from the alleyway entrance, and closed his eyes._ _

__“Maker, forgive me.” he said, softly, sadly, and then there was a flash of light that cut through his eyelids. At first he thought it was the bright light of the Maker, guiding him home, then he realised it was blue. Blue light. Lyrium._ _

__“No! I will not allow it!” The cry was a shout, and echoed against the walls._ _

__Then the dagger in his hand moved, away from his throat._ _

__Fenris, it could only have been the elf, had rushed forwards and phased a hand through his neck, and held it against the point of the dagger, palm against the metal. The shock of something moving _through_ him, and exerting unexpected pressure outwards had caused Sebastian to slacked his grip, letting the dagger push away from his neck. His throat felt very peculiar, a lingering cold sensation that made his skin tingle and itch._ _

__Sebastian gaped, Fenris’s sudden appearance throwing him. He might have stood there, stock still and wide eyed for hours, but the smell of blood in the air alerted him to the fact that the point he held was cutting Fenris. Horrified that he was hurting Fenris, he threw the dagger away from them both, the blade clattering against a wall. Sebastian turned to see Fenris eyeing him angrily, ignoring the blood slowly dripping from the centre of his palm._ _

__“What were you thinking!?” Fenris’s voice was loud enough to rouse everyone in the town, and Sebastian held a shushing finger without thinking, his time in the chantry making the gesture automatic._ _

__Fenris glared angrily, glowing still, and Sebastian though the elf might reach forward and snap the offending finger. He lowered it, and his head._ _

__“I’m sorry Fenris… I really am, but I can’t…” He trailed off, the narrowed green eyes scaring him far more than the blade had._ _

__“You can and you will. You have a promise to keep.”_ _

__Sebastian looked up, frowning, and saw Fenris, though his voice was stern and his hands clenched, his eyes were wide, and close to tears. He wore a shirt and leggings, and his chest heaved as if he had been running, barefoot, his feet muddy from the footpaths._ _

__“’Never’, you said. You said you’d _never_ leave. I am holding you to that.” _ _

__“You do not understand.” Sebastian voice was louder now, as he tried to make Fenris see his reasoning, that it was no small thing that caused him to go back on his promise. “Its my fault. I should have stopped Anders, not _helped_ him.”_ _

__Fenris bite back whatever he was about to say, puzzled. “Explain.” He said, after a long pause. Sebastian sighed, and looked miserably at Fenris._ _

__“The sela petrea….”_ _

__Sebastian could see Fenris figure it out, saw the frown of confusion shift to surprise, and then return, furrowed and dark._ _

__Fenris looked to Sebastian, then bent to retrieve the dagger. He held it, blood staining the hilt, and laid the blade alongside his jugular._ _

__“So should I throw too myself upon a blade? I was there as well, I am as guilty as you.”_ _

__“No, of course not!” Seeing the metal so close to the skin, sent a wave of panic down Sebastian’s spine, and he reached to the dagger. Fenris side stepped, and gave Sebastian a raised eyebrow, letting the archer taste what it felt like to see the blade at the throat of a loved one. Sebastian relented, and stood still, waiting for Fenris to see that he’d made his point._ _

__“Then why? Why would you even contemplate killing yourself?” Fenris’s voice was bitter, and held a contempt that he normally reserved for magi._ _

__“It was my job to protect Elthina… and I failed her. I ought to have seen Anders for what he was… I should have stopped him.”_ _

__Fenris gave a great heave of his shoulders as he sighed, and lowered the dagger. “The mage fooled us all. You, me… even Hawke, who knew him best. You cannot blame yourself. Blame _him_.”_ _

__He reached over, placing his non-bloodied hand on Sebastian’s shoulder._ _

__“I … I do not profess to know the Maker better than yourself, but I don’t think He or Elthina would want you to do something so utterly stupid, else He would not have allowed me to reach you in time.” He gave Sebastian’s shoulder a squeeze, and his voice shifted to a quiet whisper, like a confession. “I never thought I’d be thankful for my slave training, but it instilled in me the habit of sleeping very lightly. Denarius would have me beaten, if I did not rouse when at his lightest touch… so I woke when you kissed me, but I was too late to stop you. And when I saw your clothes missing, I panicked…. I thought you were leaving me… I… I was ready to hit you… I left my sword behind on purpose, else I might have considered…. But I never thought you’d go so far as to…. Maker Sebastian, I nearly lost you.”_ _

__Fenris dropped the dagger, and wrapped his arms round Sebastian, and dragged in breaths in a manner that sounded suspiciously close to sobs. Sebastian, on reflex, returned the embrace._ _

__Despite charging in and wrecking his careful plans, Fenris was making sense, and Sebastian shuddered to think how close he had come from dying by his own hand. If he had not stopped to pray, or to speak with the old man, or if Fenris had turned to search the other side of town… it did not bare thinking about._ _

__He took a deep breath, and found as he exhaled the tight painful sensation in his gut had eased, else been overwhelmed by Fenris’s display of emotion._ _

__“I… I am sorry.” He said, though he did not seem nearly enough. He glanced up, and gave Fenris a gentle nudge, “We… should get off the street, I think we’ve endeared ourselves to the locals quite enough.” Sebastian was painfully aware of the street and surrounding houses, and the unfamiliar town, and he desperately wanted to get away from the alley, the walls of the chantry standing witness to what he had almost done. It felt uncomfortable, made worse by the cold creeping into his skin, and the residual unpleasantness that Fenris’s ‘phasing’ trick had left behind, an odd discomfort that felt like a series of bones lodged in his throat._ _

__Fenris pulled back, and gave him a long look over, as if seeking signs that his words had reached him. Sebastian gave a nod, then pointed at Fenris’s hand._ _

__“If nothing else, we should see to that, before someone sees and gets into their head that you’re a blood mage.”_ _

__Fenris grunted, not seeing the humour, but moved to let Sebastian walk past. He bent down to the ground, taking the dagger himself, and making no move to return it. Sebastian had expected this, he was used to Fenris disarming him, both by taking his weapons from him, and with words, and made no comment._ _

__In fact, any attempt to make conversation seemed ill-fitting, given the events, and so a silence, as if the night was holding its breath, followed them back to the inn._ _

__****_ _

__

__The stairs creaked as Fenris lead him back to the room they’d bought, and even Sebastian’s most careful footsteps could not stop the wood from sounding their return. He could sneak past mobs of people, clad in his armour, and find the best vantage point from which to use his bow, but some simple inn-keeps stairwell seemed to make fun of him. He was glad when Fenris closed the door behind him, blocking the mocking staircase. As he picked out a strip of clean cloth for Fenris to wrap round his hand, the bleeding stopped, the lyrium’d warrior turned and locked the door, pocketing the key and not even bothering to try and hide the gesture._ _

__Sebastian contemplated letting Fenris know he’d have no trouble picking that particular lock, that he had a piece of wire threaded inside his cuff that would make short work of the locking mechanism, but one look at Fenris’s eyes, alarmed, and unsure of what he was supposed to do, stilled his tongue._ _

__Besides, the wire bits, hidden in the seams of almost all his clothing, were a secret he’d not shared deliberately. Not that he did not trust Fenris, but if it was known he had such equipment, the possible captors they were placed to best, would simply take his clothes from him and leave him helpless. Over the years, he’d developed several tricks, his high blood making him wary of kidnappers and the like._ _

__There was the stash of a bright red tunic and dagger squirreled away in Darktown, a hooded clock with an elfroot potion in the pocket, and bow with arrows by the docks, and an old man who could not make it up the chantry steps, that Sebastian had come to recite the chant with, in exchange for knowing that in Hightown, there was a door always open to him, no matter what trouble he was in. Little stashes, food and healing supplies and weapons, preparing for every eventually, that Sebastian had put together, all over Kirkwall, gave the archer some piece of mind._ _

__He had not mentioned, knowing that Hawke’s menagerie would need no prompting to make fun of his careful safeguards, even though they never asked why Sebastian seemed able to always find a lyrium potion, or injury pack when needed. It was not paranoia, not when his family had been murdered, and Hawke had the habit of picking fights with the most violent creatures on the face of Thedas._ _

__Despite it all though, his plans, his preparations, he had not been able to predict Anders’s actions. It seemed some cruel jape, that though he could stand strong against qunari, and demons and blood magi, in the end, it was someone he had called friend who had betrayed him._ _

__Anders, even the name made him grit his teeth, and wish that he’d not taken so long to aim his shoot, that he’d fired the arrow, and be damned if it took Anders longer to die. Sebastian was angered, and hurt, and well aware that when he thought of the mage the images conjured were not fitting for those of a chantry brother. Violent thoughts, evil thoughts, Anders’s wrath seeming to have infected him, his own soul tainted, his mind ruminating on revenge. It scared him, how much hate he had for the mage, how easy it would be to fall into the trap of letting his anger consume him. Worse, than making Sebastian see a dark and dangerous part of himself he would have rather not have acknowledged, was that the abomination had dragged down the champion with him._ _

__It saddened him that he and Hawke had parted ways on such poor terms, and even though he remembered bitterly Hawke’s refusal to hand Anders over, Sebastian hoped that Hawke had not perished in the resulting turmoil he and Fenris had managed to escape._ _

__He wondered what had happened to Hawke, and the others. To the little old man who had made the sweetest tea for Sebastian as the archer relayed the sermons and chants, to the wine merchant who had always a rosy glow to his cheeks, even in the early hours of morning. He was not so native to think that the fighting would have spared those caught up in it, and knew that even if they survived, people could not be rebuilt as easily with stone and mortar._ _

__He could go, he thought, and give spiritual guidance, help put back the pieces, but the idea of returning made him feel uneasy. He bore no ill will towards Kirkwall itself, but the city of chains held many memories he would rather not relive, and he doubted he could ever look at the Hightown courtyard, and not smell the burning stone._ _

__If he was not to die, he would need to find somewhere to go, something to _do_. _ _

__“You are scaring me. Come back Sebastian. I need you.”_ _

__He heard Fenris’s voice, and realised he had allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts, the poor timing for such distraction causing the elf to grow quiet, and fearful. He smiled, or tried to, as best the haunting memories of Kirkwall and its inhabitants would allow, and rubbed at his eyes._ _

__“Apologises… I was just thinking… about Kirkwall. And what we ought to do next.”_ _

__Fenris nodded, and gave him a long hard stare, “Were you… serious, when you said you’d bring an army against Kirkwall? Is that what you want to do?” Fenris was fighting to keep his voice even, but it was easy to tell the idea did not sit well. Sebastian shook his head, rapidly, to reassure Fenris he had not turned quite so bloodthirsty._ _

__“I _could_ I suppose, but it will not undo what has been done, will not bring back Elthina. And she’d look sourly if I allowed any innocents to suffer in the name of bringing her justice. There is no sense punishing Kirkwall for the crimes of one man, probably since he has likely long since scurried down one of his blighted escape tunnels. I spoke in anger…. Rest assured, I will not put the people of Kirkwall through any more hardships. In fact, I’d rather not have anything more to do with the city of chains.”_ _

__His small shoulders lose their tension, and Fenris seemed to breathe a little easier. Sebastian could not help but wonder what he’d have done if Sebastian had chosen to follow through on his threat to Hawke, and felt that Fenris might agree to anything, if it gave Sebastian a reason to live. That brought up new possibilities, and the cold calculating part of himself that Sebastian fought so hard against, suggested that this was an opportunity to coerce the elf to agree to something he might not normally._ _

__At the back of his mind, a new plan started to form._ _

__“Where… where shall we go then?” he said, watching for Fenris’s reactions, “We could stay here, seemed a nice enough place, but I fear we’d both be bored to death by the end of the season. And I doubt very much that you wish to return to Tevinter…” Fenris gave a snort, which caused Sebastian to smile thinly. “So…Starkhaven? I can insure us a comfortable life, my royal blood is good for that at least.”_ _

__“And then…?” Again, that small unspoken plea in Fenris’s voice, grasping for a purpose for Sebastian, something for him to live for. Same as if they were to stay in the dockside town, they both needed something to fill their time, boredom being the least of the fates that could befall them. Sebastian smiled, and made note to remember that Fenris knew him well, knew that without a purpose, he stood the chance of failing apart once more._ _

__“I am not sure. I do not wish the throne, not at all... but perhaps…” Sebastian fell silent, as ideas and thoughts started to solidify inside his skull. He might even have been able to call it divine inspiration, as righteous retribution against Anders came to him._ _

__Leaning in, Fenris asked; “Yes…?”_ _

__Sebastian felt several things click into place, and knew his eyes had widened, bright and blue. He found strength to sit up a little straighter, and looked to Fenris; “We could go to Starkhaven, and ensure that what befell Kirkwall is never allowed to occur again.”_ _

__***_ _

__Fenris was patient as he listened, as Sebastian with a rush of enthusiasm explained his plan, sorting out the details as he went. The elf asked questions, mostly about Starkhaven and the situation Sebastian planned to go and change so drastically._ _

__It took some time, but eventually, as night drew to its darkest, the outline was complete, save for some niggling elements that would need to be reviewed as Sebastian learnt who was actually running Starkhaven._ _

__“Well…?” Sebastian knew Fenris would be hard pushed not to see the light in his eyes, the way he’d become animated, alive, but there was the chance that Fenris’s past, and his own set of sensibilities might interfere with the elf’s ability to see the good that could be achieved._ _

__“It is… extreme.” Fenris said, carefully, not wanting to break the newly formed purpose Sebastian had found._ _

__“It needs to be, don’t you see? I know you’d rather have nothing to do with mages, but for the sake of Starkhaven, we have to address the problem at the root.”_ _

__Fenris looked uneasy, but Sebastian could see that his words were being considered. The plan _was_ extreme, and complicated. There were any number of things that would jar and disrupt the delicate nature of changing the nature of the Starkhaven from the inside, but Sebastian was confident in his abilities to make others see, even if at first he might have to bend the truth to a more acceptable shape for those in power in Starkhaven. _ _

__And the goal, to protect Starkhaven from mages, all magi, circle and apostate, could not be more admirable. Even if it meant things would have to change, and not in ways the people would be particularly open to._ _

__Starkhaven was a city of routine, the people knew their place, and were satisfied in the way things were. To restart the circle, long since destroyed and left in pieces, would be a mammoth task in itself, not to mention _how_ Sebastian intended to run it. The events of Kirkwall would help, perversely, and Sebastian could play on the fear Anders had produced. There was a small contingency of Templar in Starkhaven, and about fifteen magi at the last count, set apart in a small sector of town near the alienage, not a circle by name, but close enough. Once people could see that Sebastian’s method, no matter how radical, _worked_ , he could petition to expand, and take on more mages. _ _

__That would be Fenris’s role, to act as a mage hunter, and bring the apostates to Starkhaven. The danger involved in apprehending magi did not deter the elf, but the idea of having to deal with magic users directly clearly did not hold much appeal. The elf had also quietly mentioned the inherent risk in bringing the rouge magi to Sebastian’s hometown, but Sebastian had reassured him that there would be the Templar, and the both of them, to keep safe the populace._ _

__Fenris had reminded Sebastian that mages were always dangerous, to which Sebastian had agreed. This was no risk-free venture they planned, and the stakes were high._ _

__Still, as Fenris thought over what Sebastian had proposed, he started to nod._ _

__“If things are as you say, and we are able to successful put your plan into action… then yes… I believe it would work.” Fenris paused, pursing his lips. “I will say, I do not… I do not exactly agree with your methods, but I can see it is for the greater good. And I cannot fault you for trying to save Starkhaven from Kirkwall’s fate.”_ _

__“Then, you agree?” Sebastian was secretly pleased at Fenris’s trepidation. It would keep the both of them wary, and having someone he could trust to tell him when he went too far was an invaluable aid._ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“Excellent. Really, I could not do this without you Fenris. Yet… there is one last thing I ought to mention. Starkhaven… will not approve of _us_. It cannot be known that you and I are together. It is going to be hard enough getting them to accept their wayward princeling, never mind if I appear with a male elf lover. I hate to say, but it is the truth.”_ _

__“So… you wish to part?” Fenris’s voice trembled, and it pained Sebastian to see his ill-chosen words have such an effect._ _

__“Maker, no! I want you, by my side, in my bed. But for sake of appearances, in public we have to just be friends, warriors who had survived Kirkwall. Maybe… once things have begun to change…” Sebastian was suddenly wistful, hopeful in a way he had not been since Kirkwall. “We could really make a difference… to everyone.”_ _

__“I see.”_ _

__Sebastian brought himself close to the elf, and gathered a lyrium’d hand in his, holding it up to his lips and laying a gentle kiss upon it. Fenris had doubts, and they danced behind his eyes, but the elf, just as Sebastian always knew, was strong enough to face them down. The road that he had laid out for them was not an easy one, and they’d have lay more than a few bricks themselves._ _

__But it was a path, leading to a great goal, and with Fenris at his side, Sebastian felt he’d be more than able to face any and all hardships in his way._ _

__****_ _

__It was blessedly easy, to follow Jameson’s advice and charter passage on the _Filigree Fish_ the next day, after a much needed lie in. Later, once a time and price had been decided upon, Sebastian sought out Jameson himself, grateful for the delay he had caused in speaking with him the night before and meaning to offer a small token of his appreciation, though he had no intention of speaking on the details of Jameson’s timely interruption. _ _

__He was directed to a door the other side of town, and before he knew, he was sat at a small kitchen table and being treated to some tea, and pleasantly sweet honey biscuits. The man, Jameson, bickered with his wife near constantly, and though at first Sebastian was made uncomfortable by the insults, he soon saw that the wife was grinning ear to ear, and occasionally throwing back a barded comment of her own._ _

__Once the tea was done, Jameson did not want to take the small pouch of coin Sebastian had produced. The wife though, must have known Sebastian would not be so easily refused, and went to the kitchen, coming back with a small bundle of biscuits, for the journey to Starkhaven. She pushed them at Sebastian, then met his eyes as she closed her hand round the pouch of coin he still held in his hand. Sebastian kept his face still, secretly impressed at the woman’s efforts to preserve her husband’s pride, and released the pouch. He only just caught sight of it being whisked into her apron, and had to check himself from grinning too wide as he bid both of them farewell._ _

__He met Fenris back at the inn, and could see that Fenris was relieved that he’d returned without incident. He wrapped his arms round Fenris, holding tightly, then told him of the ship that would take them the next day. He recommended they’d best get a decent meal, and sleep, for the trip would take nearly a week to get to the mouth of the river, and then a couple more, on the slower moving barges, and the rations would be merger. He decided to keep the biscuits as a surprise._ _

__Fenris did not seem to want to discuss the events of the night he was almost too late, and Sebastian did little to encourage the topic. It was a subject difficult to speak of, and while there was a tension in the air, Fenris seemed to accept that with his new plan and purpose in Starkhaven, Sebastian was safe to be left alone._ _

__The freedom he was granted felt like a step in the right direction, and Sebastian hoped that soon Fenris would lose the fretful look in his eyes, the way he constantly glanced across to him, as if seeking some sign that Sebastian was in danger to himself. It would take time, and after such an ordeal, Sebastian was prepared to wait as long as it took for Fenris to be confident that Sebastian no longer wanted to take his life._ _

__On the surface, things remained as they had been, the gentle caresses at every opportunity, however, when Sebastian had gone to his knees while Fenris sat on the bed, and offered to ‘make it up’ to him, Fenris had politely refused. Sebastian had been confused, then realised that Fenris had associated the night of intimacy with his suicide attempt. When he thought about it, it made sense that Fenris could not bring himself to partake so soon, and he had got to his feet, laying a sweet kiss upon Fenris’s cheek._ _

__“Do you wish to talk about it?” he had asked, and Fenris had shaken his head._ _

__So they spoke of other things, of boats and supplies, of how the weather might delay them, how easy it would be to negotiate passage on a barge and whether they would be expected to help work the ship, or if their status as passengers would allow them to have a brief respite for manual labour._ _

__“I would not mind if they needed an extra pair of hands.” Fenris had said, and Sebastian had nodded. He did not think that bringing some books to occupy himself on the journey would greatly offend Fenris, but he did not want to risk it, and so helping the boatmen should they ask seemed as good a way as any to fill the time._ _

__The conversation slowed to a halt, and so Sebastian looked to the window, and the setting sun._ _

__“We ought to get ready, and rest.”_ _

__He had no need to pack their bags, most of what they had managed to bring from Kirkwall was still stuffed into the canvas bags. He did repack some of the more crumpled clothes, that they might fit better, and make sure that the silver candlesticks were covered so make them less of a target for thieves. Soon, the room was clear, save for the clothes set out for them to wear the next day, and so, following his own advice, Sebastian settled down to sleep._ _

__Fenris crawled beside him, his arm moving to hold Sebastian by the shoulders as the elf curled himself round Sebastian’s form. Warm, and comforting, and an easy lull into the fade._ _

__***_ _

__Day broke, and Fenris and Sebastian wore their armour down to the harbour, to save from trying to carry the weight of it. Sebastian felt slightly put out, that Fenris had not given him back his daggers, though he had allowed Sebastian the bow. It was too soon, he knew, but hoped that Fenris would eventually trust him enough with a blade, even though he hoped and prayed that they would not need such weapons in Starkhaven._ _

__The journey on the _Filigree Fish_ was long, and though briefly brightened but the biscuits, Sebastian spent most his time trying to sneakily touch Fenris when no-one else was looking. Perhaps not the most productive use of the long hours, but it kept him sane, and seemed good practice for when they reached Starkhaven._ _

__He had _tried_ to keep his hands to himself, but both of them had found the lack of contact too much to bear. This way at least he could sate his desires and at the same time, reassure Fenris that even though to an outside they were no more than a pair of warriors, he still saw him as so much more._ _

__****_ _

__After a long, uneventful journey, Sebastian found himself surprised as the ship gracefully sailed up to the port upon the Minanter River, that nothing untoward had occurred. He was so used to calamity hounding his every step, that the peaceful docking of the boat had him on edge._ _

__He could see the lack of anything more threatening than a couple of grey clouds on the horizon was also troubling Fenris, the elf walked with his own sword ready at his back, him as well too much used to unexpected surprises to be comfortable without its reassuring weight. Sebastian’s bow rested in the hold, for when coupled with a quiver, it was too cumbersome on deck to wear. The lack of having _something_ to hand only compounded Sebastian’s sense of unease. _ _

__Fenris saw him grip the railing, so tight he felt he might leave his hand imprints on the polished wood, as ropes were thrown and caught, and the ship drawn into to the dock. With a slow appraising look, the elf went below decks, and returned holding a familiar blade. Without words, Fenris offered Sebastian his dagger back. He did not need to say ‘I trust you’; the words were inherent in the gesture, and Sebastian felt both grateful, and glad to have the trust back, never mind his weapon._ _

__Sebastian nodded, and placed the dagger into the empty sheaf on his belt, and together, after helping Cammy and his small crew unload the cargo of salted fish and dried herbs, they landed upon the shore._ _

__There was no shortage of barges willing to take an extra two passengers, the supply routes busy after the harvest. After a couple of hours to steady their stomachs and clear their lungs of the tang of salted fish, and purchase fresh supplies for the next stage of the journey, Sebastian and Fenris joined the crew of a barge heading directly to Starkhaven._ _

__The barge master was a stout man, who laughed when Sebastian asked him the name of the barge._ _

__“Yeh dinnae name a barge like yeh would a ship. A barge is a slow and sluggish beastie, yeh might as well name your wheelbarrah.”_ _

__The Starkhaven dialect, delivered in rapid succession, with hardly a breath between the words, made Fenris frown, and Sebastian had to remind himself that it could take some getting used to, to unpick where one sentence finished and the next began. The barge master, Todd, spoke speedily, and threw countless slang and shipping terms into his speech, so much so sometimes even Sebastian struggled to comprehend the man. This only served to amuse Todd, and he seemed to spend the next week thinking of new phrases to befuddle the pair of traveling companions._ _

__Whilst the crew of the _Filigree Fish_ had been a quiet bunch, more intent on studying the weather and winds than their additional passengers, the barge master took a personal interest in the manner of persons he had allowed upon his barge. Curious, and not easily deflected by Sebastian’s vague comments, or Fenris’s sometimes curt answers, when not guiding the barge round the curves of the river, Todd liked to seek out Sebastian and Fenris. Sebastian did not much mind, he could see the man had a good nature and heart, and his company was usually pleasant, if at times a struggle to keep up with his chattering. It did mean, however, that each touch and caress between Fenris and the archer was fleeting, nervous, for they never knew when Todd might appear, and there was not room on the barge to properly hide from prying eyes. Sebastian longed to gather Fenris in his arms, and nevermind if the barge master got an eyeful, but he kept his hands and lust in check, figuring that Fenris would not react well to being interrupted, especially if a hasty disembarking had to follow. While Todd seemed friendly enough, Sebastian could not predict how he would react to seeing how involved his passengers were with each other. Sailors could be terribly close-minded, and it was not worth the risk. Sebastian wanted Fenris to see his homeland in the best light, and it would not do to show him the harsh prejudice against taking an elf for a lover._ _

__Perhaps, reasoned Sebastian, it was for the best. Fenris had already stated his unease for anything more intimate than a brief kiss, and the enforced celibacy would serve to allow him the time he required to heal._ _

__It was hard to judge Fenris’s mood, the elf shying from the new faces, and any conversation between the elf and the archer kept deliberately light. They could not speak of their plans, not when there was the chance of being overheard, and Sebastian knew that even the closet of partners would find being stuck on a barge for weeks on end a strain. He worked to give Fenris space, as much as he was able. It was gratifying though, that Fenris often came and joined him as he looked out at the passing scenery, or huddled out of the rain amongst the crates and barrels of cargo, the raindrops thundering against the roof so loud Sebastian had to shout to be heard._ _

__Still, he knew Fenris well enough he could guess at the thoughts left unvoiced. The elf would sometimes shuffle on his feet, even though he had no difficulty balancing on the tilting decks, showing his uncertainty about the path they walked. Other times, he’d stare at nothing in particular, lost perhaps in careful contemplation in the role he would play. Under it all though, was that core of stoic strength, and trust in Sebastian and his plan._ _

__To Sebastian, Fenris’s occasional smiles, and glancing touch of his lyrium’d fingers against his hand, reinforced his faith, and gave him courage to face the trails that were sure to lay in wait for them in Starkhaven. He needed no words of reassurance, not when Fenris’s very presence showed the elf’s commitment to both him and his grand scheme._ _

__Quiet as Fenris was, he was not grave, and Sebastian was impressed at how well the elf managed his days, and the constant company. Fenris, over the course of the journey, had taken to pacing the length of the barge, and when Todd had declared that he was driving the man to distraction, agreed to learn to steer the cumbersome laden boat. Everyone save Sebastian had been surprised to see the elf who seemed to slight handle the barge pole, its weight not much less than his sword, with such finesse._ _

__Together, Fenris’s skill and willingness to learn, and Sebastian’s good humour and tolerance for acting as Todd’s amusement as he tried to recall the quirks of his homeland tongue, they had earned the respect of the barge master and the two other men upon the barge._ _

__Of the two other men, one departed halfway along their journey. Todd explained that he was returning home, seeing that Todd had found himself two likely lookin’ lads to help out._ _

__“Bit o’ a blessin’, really. He was getting’ mighty homesick, has a wee wifie, ready wi’ child. He’ll be hame for the birthin’, as a fither oughts to be.”_ _

__The other, Murrock, was an old dock hand, who had moved to helping the barges in the autumn seasons, the demand for a man sturdy enough to use one of the long barge poles to navigate through the twists and turns of the river making the switch profitable. Murrock didn’t say much, but liked to look out across the banks, at the slow progression of farmsteads and little riverside villages._ _

__Todd, however, spoke enough for a whole boatload of people. When not asking Sebastian again what happened to Kirkwall, shaking his head and clicking his teeth at the tale, he was asking Fenris about his ‘mighty odd inkings’._ _

__Fenris had at first been reluctant to talk about his lyrium brands, but as the days wore on, he finally relented, and by the time they were nearing Starkhaven, had given a demonstration by phasing his hand through a barrel and pulling an apple out. Todd had been delighted, and swore he’d be telling the tale for years to come._ _

__“An’ yerself ma lad, dae yeh dae tricks as well?” He asked Sebastian. Sebastian had taken out his bow, and the apple from Fenris and threw it into the air. His bowstring gave a satisfying ‘twang’, and the apple had been pierced with an arrow, and fell into the river, bobbing downstream, feathered tuff marking its place._ _

__Todd had cheered, and broke out a small flask of rum, sharing it and chatting away, saying that they’d be by Starkhaven by the next night._ _

__The news was welcome, but at the same time Sebastian felt a trickle of nerves unsettle him. At first he had questioned the additional length of the journey, if they were not using the night hours, and Todd had pointed out that lantern oil was too expensive to use and still turn a profit, and that they had to pull into the bank every night, for it was not safe to try and manoeuvre in the darkness. Accepting the sense, Sebastian had resigned himself to the long drag of days, but now the end was in sight, he realised the momentous task ahead of him._ _

__Fenris was there, his very presence reassuring, even though it was clear the elf _itched_ to have more than 25 paces of ground beneath his feet. Sebastian likewise, had grown tired of the endless sound of water, and the lack of space and privacy._ _

__They had no need of their armour on the barge, and Sebastian wore a simple shirt, and his trousers. Sometimes, briefly, he went bare chested, though Fenris refused to even consider doing the same, even if Sebastian made the valid point that they did not have much in the way of spare clothes. The clothes they had were river washed when needed, and the smell of the less than clean water hung to them. Though they did not want for food, the same meals, day after day, had dulled Sebastian’s appetite. He also felt his bow skills slipping, unable to fire and collect his arrows, and not having enough to waste more than one a day as target practice. The upturned arrow, that he had named Anders’s arrow, sat in his steadily declining quiver, and he had tied a piece of cord around the shaft to mark it different from the others. By the time they were on the last leg of the journey, Anders’s arrow sat alone in the quiver._ _

__When Starkhaven finally came into sight, there was drizzle in the air. The dark granite walls, and steep hill, were unmistakable, and Sebastian felt a pang of homesickness he had not anticipated strike him. There, was the castle proudly overlooking the surrounding houses, and there, the wall guarding against the surrounding woodland, the trees thick and darkest green. There were small fires on the walls, to light the surroundings for the patrolling guards, that Sebastian remembered being steadfast to their routines, and easy to evade. Firelight shone from windows, and the dock was lined in bright lanterns to guide the barge in safely._ _

__He was home._ _

__*********_ _

__Disembarking from the barge took rather longer than expected, with Sebastian and Fenris dressing in armour again so they did not have to manage the weight, and waiting for Murrock to carefully shore the barge into a free place, Todd then demanding to take his most favourite passengers ever out for a drink._ _

__Deciding that he had been away too long to remember accurately the inns, Sebastian said that he’d buy the drinks, if Todd would kindly point them in the direction of a suitable place they could find a room. Todd had launched into vibrant exclamation, quoting half a dozen establishments. Sebastian took a breath, silently begging Todd to do the same before the man choked from lack of air, and selected the Goose and the Open Gate. With a board grin, Todd led them off onto shore._ _

__Murrock declined Todd’s offer to ‘come get rat-arsed’, and stayed on the barge, resting up for unloading the cargo come morning._ _

__The Goose and Open Gate was cheap, and cheerful. The ale was watery, and the food lukewarm, but after weeks on the barge, Sebastian had never been anywhere so welcome to his eyes. Todd, seemingly jubilant to have reached the destination, grew more talkative, and introduced Sebastian and Fenris to a horde of people, some of whom did not seem to know the barge master, but were too polite to mention that little inconvenience._ _

__When the press of people, close, and too loud after such quietness on the barge, caused Fenris to stare down into his drink, hands curled around the tankard, Sebastian suggested that the elf make use of the bathroom. The look of both gratitude, and pleasant surprise that there was a toilet free for use, and not some complicated method of hanging over the edge of the barge lit up Fenris’s eyes, and Todd laughed, and pointed the small smelly stalls at the side of the building out._ _

__Fenris took his time, and Sebastian looked around, taking in the peoples of his home. It seemed much the same as he remembered, people noisy with alcohol, and appearing plenty cheerful. There were a couple of sullen faces, hunched over ales, but the majority seemed both happy enough to indulge, and wore clothes suitable for the coming winter._ _

__There were weapons, but sheaved, and hung odd places on belts, as if the daggers and odd sword were seldom used. He could see very little in the way of armour and it was reassuring that Starkhaven seemed to have managed to keep peace enough for its citizens to grow so lax._ _

__Fenris returned, in better humour for the brief respite, and, once he saw Fenris making wry comments in return to Todd’s blusterous laughter, and the both of them smiling at the banter, Sebastian made his way to the toilets himself._ _

__He did not take his time, the stink was offensive to his nose, and even his eyes, but he was pleased to see water available to wash his hands, and lye soup, sodden and soft, but soap all the same sitting at the side of the counter._ _

__There was no looking glass, but Sebastian knew his face was masked in a beard, that had drawn Fenris’s eye more than once. He could have borrowed Todd’s razor on the barge, but he thought that getting into to Starkhaven unnoticed would make things progress more smoothly, and give him and Fenris time to adjust and tackle the next stage of the plan at their own pace. When he had looked over the side of the barge, the calm water’s reflection showed a man, rugged, and unfamiliar._ _

__His eyes had seemed harder, perhaps because he knew the path he walked, perhaps haunted by the events that had nearly destroyed him. Coupled with the uneven (he had never been able to wear a beard with the ease Hawke had effortlessly managed) growth of hair on his face, he had not looked like himself._ _

__Good, he had thought at the time, the Sebastian from before would not have had the strength to see through what needed to be done. He was now stronger, like a blade tempered in the fires of the ruined chantry, his edge keen and _ready_._ _

__However, now, here in Starkhaven and seeing what he had set out to protect, Sebastian hesitated. The disruption he would cause would affect the whole city. He was not so native to think that his scheme would be universally well-received, at least, not at first. He had thought of ways to circumvent people’s distrust, but such dishonesty felt at odds with what he was trying to achieve._ _

__Still, if there was one thing he was skilled at, apart from his bow, it was twisting his words to make them more pleasing to the ear. He had found the technicalities in his vows; he’d find a way to bring his idea to fruition. He would not let Anders win, would not allow him, or any other mage to threaten his hometown._ _

__He walked back to the table where Todd and Fenris sat, head held high, and joined in the debate whether the ale was fit for drinking. Todd decided they’d better have another each, to better judge._ _

__Eventually, after a last round of ale, and promising to check at the docks in a couple of days and see Todd off, Sebastian and Fenris were free to make their way to their room._ _

__As soon as the door was closed, Fenris allowed himself to let out a long sigh, that it seemed he had been holding since the riverside town of Ansburg, that they had passed five days ago._ _

__When he was finished, Sebastian closed the space between them, cupped his hands round Fenris’s face and kissing him gently, then, as he took in the fact that finally they were alone, pressing more demandingly._ _

__Sebastian felt himself stir, and broke off the kiss, before he passed the point of being able to slow himself back to a neutral state. He’d promised Fenris time, and he’d not let his dick rush the elf._ _

__Fenris however, seemed to have his fill of chastity, and practically pounced the archer, arms wrapped round so tight it made his ribs creak. A mouth, and a tongue moved against his lips, and a hunger he had been resisting rose up, and Sebastian let himself taste Fenris, savouring the sweet slick sweep of mouth against lip against teeth._ _

__Fenris had to learn fast how to kiss someone with a beard, had to measure the drag against his lower face, the hair rough, abrasive. He compensated by using his hands, carded against the grain of the hair, feeling the coarseness against his fingers._ _

__Till he grew light-headed, and his lungs stung with the lack of proper breath, Sebastian kissed Fenris, his hands moving into his hair, down his neck, across his cheek, like he was starving for the touch. When he moved his head to the side, that he might take in air, Fenris moved his mouth down, capturing the skin of his neck, drawing a groan from Sebastian, fuelled by the new breath._ _

__He let the tension release from his body, and leaned against Fenris, breathing nosily into Fenris’s ear as he felt the elf leave toothy crescents against the side of his throat, and drag the flat of his tongue over the marked skin, tasting where the beard faded to flesh._ _

__The possessive nature of Fenris’s teeth-lined kisses against his neck, and the way he grasped at Sebastian’s clothes, was one that they had not yet had chance to fully explore. Sebastian remembered how quickly a well-placed bite, or the way Fenris would tighten his grip against the back of his neck, or around his wrist, could make his blood pound, and his usual control fray at the edges. Not unpleasant in the least, but it was something he was learning to accept and give in to, himself normally the more dominating force in his past bedroom experiences._ _

__Now though, he found himself craving more than ever Fenris’s warrior’s strength, and the way he would _take_ his submission, as if it already belonged to him. He craned his neck, and pressed forwards, willing Fenris to bite a little harder, take a little more._ _

__A growl filled his ears, and he found Fenris’s hand tuck into the curve of his neck, holding him steady as the elf gripped and sucked at his neck, sparking a rush of heat down to his knees._ _

__While part of him wanted to sink down onto a bed, or floor if the bed was too far, it had been too long for Sebastian to remain as passive for long. Not when his hands felt so good against Fenris’s skin, dragging sweated fingers over the lyrium curls he could reach, the heat centred in his palm feeling like if he did not share the blaze, it might ignite his flesh. He trailed fire down Fenris’s arm, and against the lines of his neck, and set about the task of unwrapping his prize._ _

__All the while, Fenris alternated his assault on Sebastian’s neck with hungry kisses and ravenous bites. He’d twist, and shrug a particularly snug piece of armour from him, his own hands working the sides of Sebastian’s plate, only pulling his mouth from Sebastian to see better a troublesome buckle. Each time, once the reluctant fastening had been deal with, lips would again meet Sebastian’s skin, more determined than before, the fervour of Fenris’s passion only serving to fuel Sebastian’s own._ _

__“Maker, Ah missed this…” Sebastian managed to half-sigh, as he lifted Fenris’s armour from him. He lowered it to the ground, and saw that Fenris’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, as he in turn loosened the last of Sebastian’s straps, and removed his armour. His undershirt was lifted, Fenris hardly pausing for Sebastian to lift his arms before they were pulled with the fabric, and then Fenris stopped. Fingertips, light, danced over his shoulders, and Sebastian shifted to see what had caused Fenris to suddenly slow._ _

__He almost laughed, when he saw the elf brush over the newly coloured freckles, darker with Sebastian’s exposure to the autumn sun, and more numerous. Fenris gave a little smile, and stood on tiptoe to let his lips press against the speckled shoulder._ _

__Sebastian felt the teeth, and his skin sing as Fenris scraped the ridge of tooth over his flesh. He turned, to see Fenris lick his lips, something wild and untameable in his eyes, and then flick his glance to the bed. Small steps, hindered by trying to rid themselves of their remaining clothes, took them to the small mattress. Sebastian fell to the bed, Fenris under him, slim hands pulling Sebastian’s larger body down._ _

__He felt the heat cloud his head, as Fenris, hardened length and all, writhed under him, hands up and under his arms against his back, purposefully skittering nails up his spine. Sebastian shifted slightly, so that he did not risk crushing his partner, then leaned down to capture the mouth, panting so sweetly. Fenris arched, and Sebastian felt a cock dig into his belly, so close to his own hardness. He shifted again, and the two lengths touched, causing them both to gasp at the sensation, hot and heavy and hard._ _

__He brushed hair from Fenris’s face, and looked deep into the green of his eyes. Pupils large, and gaze open, and honest and _hopeful_ , and he all but melted. His tongue slid against Fenris’s, reverberating with a low hum of satiation of the completeness of the moment. Fenris tilted his chin up, opening his mouth wider, and wriggled beneath Sebastian’s weight, tipping his hips side to side so that their lengths ground against each other. _ _

__The sweet friction of their two cocks together was delicious, but not quite enough, not when he longed to be buried deep within his lover._ _

__Sebastian took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the elf, and then proceeded to mouth against Fenris’s lips, kissing, and nipping and sucking and teasing, till Fenris was reduced to an incoherent squirming mass of lyrium coated muscles and moans._ _

__Then, and only then, did he pull back, and leave the breathless body in search of oil. Fenris turned weakly on the bed, eyes unfocused, and Sebastian was glad of his timing. It looked like the elf had been seconds from release, the darkened tip of his cock glistening. From the grateful glance it was apparent that so soon an end to their rediscovery of each other was not what Fenris desired either._ _

__“The other bag. In the pouch near the top…” Fenris offered quietly, as Sebastian’s rummaging for the flask of oil grew frantic and his face contorted with irritation. The archer made note that Fenris must have moved the oil to be more readily available, and grinned, showing teeth as he finally found the little glass container._ _

__He stalked back, low to the ground, and knelt on the floor, leaning up upon the bed that he could reach Fenris. He stroked over the skin of the hips, taunt and trembling, and eased Fenris’s left leg up, then the right. He set both feet upon the mattress, and did not need to urge or encourage Fenris further, as the elf tilted his knees outwards, and flexed at the base of his spine, bringing his ass into a more suitable position._ _

__“What a sight yeh are… A marvel, truly, a Maker-sent marvel.” The thick coating of his accent had caused his voice to drop to a lower pitch, as if weighed down by the Starkhaven dialect. It came out, a mix of warm vowels and soft ‘s’es, and gravelly ‘r’s, and Fenris blushed at the words. Or perhaps, it was the brogue that caused such colour to rise, Sebastian was never which, as he only ever spoke in such coarse terms when involved with another intimately, and his homeland accent always took hold in the bedroom domain._ _

__His teeth pulled the cork out, and he scowled at the sour dry texture, when he’d recently been treated to a much more pleasant taste sensation. As he worked his fingers in the oil, he spat the stopper to the floor, and dragged himself up on the bed, till his mouth was over the wet head of Fenris’s hardness._ _

__He applied his finger to the tight ring of ruffled muscle, at the same moment he extended his tongue to lap at the moisture gathered at the tip. Fenris, with a surprised noise, bucked his hips upwards, tip sliding on the flat of Sebastian’s tongue, his finger having to follow to keep the slight circling movements upon Fenris’s entrance._ _

__“Ahh!” Fenris’s voice had grown breathy and sharp, and Sebastian rather liked the way the normally carefully contemplative elf could be coaxed into making such delightfully debauched sounds._ _

__As his finger slipped past the clench of muscles, resting just a fingertip’s length in, Sebastian took in Fenris’s cock into his mouth, again, stopping with just the head inside._ _

__Smoothing the oil against the pucker, he mirrored the movement with his tongue against the flare of Fenris’s cock, running round the ridge at the same speed his fingertip slid and stretched. When he pressed a little deeper with his finger, using the bend of his finger to ready Fenris for accepting his now similarly leaking length, he pushed lip covered teeth down Fenris’s cock, forming a tight ‘o’. His jaw felt like it was held too wide, and it was hard to focus his breathing through his nose, but the soft keening and shivery whimpers coming from his partner were worth it._ _

__He bore down a little more with his mouth sealed round the heated flesh, till it was markedly uncomfortable, pushing his finger up to the knuckle, then pulled both back simultaneously, slowly. Wanting to pursue both sensations at once, Fenris twitched, his hips flexing as he chased the retreating wetness of Sebastian’s mouth, while tightening round his slender finger, as if to keep the digit trapped inside him._ _

__Sebastian took pity of the elf, brought to a near-thrashing frenzy, and started to pump with two fingers, while lapping thick stripes up the length bobbing before him, careful to watch that he did not push Fenris too far, and bring their activities to an abrupt finish._ _

__Sensitized, and loosening nicely, Fenris let his head roll back, lewd and luscious noises emitting from the back of his throat. Sebastian added a third finger, aware that after their weeks on boat and barge, Fenris would not be as practiced at accepting intrusion as before, and though Fenris was nearing the point that to delay further would be met with impatience, and no small amount of irritation, Sebastian wanted to make sure he did not hurt the elf._ _

__As if on cue, Fenris gave an eager moan, and pushed back against Sebastian’s fingers, sighing wantonly as three fingers thicknesses entered him._ _

__Sebastian felt his groin flare white hot with arousal, and he coated first his hand, then his cock with oil, using more than he would normally. He climbed onto the bed, and brought Fenris’s legs up onto each of his shoulders, his oiled hand moving to encircle Fenris’s penis, his other hand lining himself up._ _

__With a slow push, that squeezed the breath from his lungs, he slipped inside Fenris’s silken heat. He nearly forgot to move his hand, till Fenris used his legs as leverage, and pulled himself up, then down, harder that Sebastian would have attempted. If the first push took his breath, the second forced the reserves of air from him, and Sebastian struggled to hold himself steady and Fenris pulled his hips up and down, the elf fucking himself onto Sebastian’s cock._ _

__Neither of them were going to last long, not with the abstinence, followed by such torturous teasing, but Sebastian was at least proud that he managed to regain his senses enough to take a more active role, accepting Fenris’s pace and power. He slammed back his hips, as hard as he dared, and found the way he could felt the force of it through Fenris’s body to his hand moving firmly up and down Fenris’s swollen member send both a jolt of heady lust through him, and a spike of panic._ _

__Fenris’s response was to bring himself up till Sebastian’s tip almost slid out, then back again, muscles tight down the length of him, and finishing as deeply seated as he was able, panting heavily and growling for more. Sebastian, between gasps, let loose his hips, and drove deep._ _

__Two more of those bone rattling joinings, and Sebastian felt his lust overwhelm him, spilling from him deep inside that glorious molten heat. Fenris with a harsh sound of triumph, spurted, covering his belly, painting over the lyrium brands with milky streaks._ _

__The effort and concentration required to disentangle them was too much for Sebastian, and so he stayed, till he regained his breath and senses, feeling himself soften inside Fenris. Fenris, all rippling inner muscles and suddenly heavy legs over his shoulders, enveloped him, surrounded him, and the elf sighed softly._ _

__Disengaging was messy, and Sebastian grabbed his undershirt in an effort not to upset the innkeep’s cleaning staff too much. They would both need a proper wash come morning, but soon Fenris’s belly and chest were wiped down, and Sebastian laid the crumpled undershirt under his rear, seeing the glistening trail of oil and seed he’d left there. He gave Fenris a nudge to attend to himself, but the elf had rolled over sleepily._ _

__Rather than let the elf suffer the discomfort of the dawn if left in such a state, Sebastian used his undershirt, and dabbed at between Fenris’s legs. Fenris, too tired to resist, spread his knees wide, and Sebastian, careful, aware of how sensitive Fenris would be afterwards, pressed a finger insider, scraping out what he could, and smiling at the soft little moans Fenris was making on each exhale. Another night, when he was not quite so bone weary, he might have pressed further, and tried to coax Fenris to hardening again, rubbing inside till he found the nub of sparks and heat. To push through the haze of sleep and bring Fenris to a second completion, slowly, leisurely._ _

__But not tonight._ _

__He folded the undershirt, and made note to make sure he laundered it himself to save embarrassment. He had to pull an armful of blankets from where Fenris had lain on them, the elf awake but only just._ _

__Sebastian grinned, and moved to cover Fenris’s body with his own, wrapping his arm over and nestling his mouth to the back of Fenris’s neck._ _

__“Welcome to Starkhaven.” He said._ _

__*****_ _

__The room’s curtains were not thick enough to keep the dawn sun from waking him, and Sebastian turned his head from the light. When that did not allow him to slip back into the fade’s embrace, he pulled himself grudgingly upright and out of bed._ _

__Before he went down to see the innkeep and request clean water, Sebastian carefully took his dagger and laid it out, when Fenris would easily see it. He whispered quietly his intention in the direction of the elf, and then crept out the door, hoping that if the elf was wakened by his movements, he’d have heard that Sebastian planned to be back very shortly._ _

__The innkeep looked at Sebastian’s coin, suspicious of the unfamiliar markings until Sebastian let his accent grow thicker, and reassure the inn keep that he was of Starkhaven. He said he’d get one of the serving girls to bring up a basin soon, and asked if Sebastian would like some breakfast. Sebastian agreed, then, remembering that Starkhaven served their porridge oats thick and with salt, asked if he might have some honey and fruit as well._ _

__The archer bore easily the look of scorn the innkeep failed to hide, and went back to his room, sitting by the door and picking out clothes for the day._ _

__First, he’d see about exchanging the candlesticks for coin, and renew himself with the markets. There was no better place to get an earful of the gossip and current standing of those in power, though he was mindful that only one sentence in every five might hold any truth._ _

__He also wanted to see the Templar, as well as pay visit to the chantry so he might give thanks to the Maker for seeing him and Fenris safely to Starkhaven._ _

__Lastly, he wanted to take his bow out to the forests, and get some decent practice. Boats and barges had dulled his skill, and he was keen to prove to himself that his arrows could still hit their mark. He thought Fenris might also like chance to swing his sword, and the forests were pleasant this time of year, the bursts of autumnal colour on the leaves offset by the evergreens, and the air clear and crisp._ _

__He would have to make himself known sooner or later, but when he did present himself to the distant cousin on the throne, he knew he’d feel better for being reacquainted with both his home city and his weapon._ _

__And Fenris, his card up his sleeve, his hidden lockpick. If all went sour, if his blood and his words were not enough to sway the court to his plan, Fenris just might save the situation._ _

__He looked to the sleeping elf, and smiled. The elf had no idea of his importance, and Sebastian could not tell him, lest it reveal his hand too soon. He did not like to hold secrets from Fenris, but Sebastian knew that he would lie to the Maker himself, if it would help his cause._ _

__The door was knocked on gently, and Sebastian collected the basin and breakfast from the serving girl, bringing the tray and hammered steel bucket into the room and seeing Fenris stir at the noise. He set out the tray, deciding that food would be welcome after their night of drinking and riotous lovemaking, and that the rainwater in the basin could hardly get any more cold._ _

__Fenris rubbed his eyes, and came to see what Sebastian had, looking down at the grey mush in the bowls._ _

__“Dare I ask….?”_ _

__“Porridge. Made with oats and water…. And salt. There is honey and chopped apple to temper the taste.”_ _

__Fenris made a face, but to his credit, tried the porridge as it came. Sebastian had to bite his tongue to stop from laughing as the elf then ladled fruit and honey into his bowl, till the porridge was more syrup than stodge._ _

__The first mouthful, thick and only just warm, brought Sebastian back to his childhood, where his grandfather would have the table set with cream and honey and raisins and apples and candied lemon peel, but all the children would try to swallow the salted mush, in efforts to imitate their grandfather. His father was often absent with his kingly duties, but had his porridge with milk, and his mother had cream and honey with hers. She also always had made sure there was plenty hot sweet tea in the teapots, for the children to wash the porridge down with._ _

__Now, as an adult, he found he did not have to choke down the oats, but did find he would probably seek out some milk for his next breakfast, till he reacclimatised himself with the heavy way the salt sat on his tongue, and dried out his mouth._ _

__He poured himself a cup of tea, which, unlike the washwater and porridge, was scaldingly hot, and dark enough he could not see the bottom of the rough clay mug. Fenris took one look at the tea, and decided that the porridge was quite enough for him to adapt to for the time being._ _

__“I thought there was nothing worse than the gruel they served the slaves in Tevinter, but somehow the innkeeper has found a way to make it even less palatable. Quite the achievement.”_ _

__Sebastian chuckled, as he scraped his bowl clean. “Its traditional. It there if one thing you’ll learn here, it is that Starkhaven is steeped in tradition.” The archer cocked his head to the side, thinking, “Which makes our task rather more difficult…”_ _

__Fenris’s lips tightened, and he asked the question that had obviously been playing on his mind for days; “Do you think we’ll succeed?”_ _

__Sebastian thought of Elthina, and his beloved chantry, in flames, and felt his eyes turn a shade colder._ _

__“We cannot afford not to.”_ _

__***_ _

__Sebastian Vael, prince of Starkhaven, might have got a better price for the silver candlesticks, but he’d have not been able to hear quite so much interesting rumour, nor move so freely amongst the market place. Sebastian was glad of his beard, and that he’d chosen not to wear his armour, instead had dressed in the cleanest of his clothes, which still smelled of the Minanter River. Fenris had stayed behind, offering to take their remaining clothes to the waterpump and launder them._ _

__With a small fraction of the coin exchanged for the candlesticks, Sebastian bought new clothes for himself and Fenris, a fresh batch of arrows, a bottle of red wine, some cheese and bread and shaving blade, all the while listening to the marketplace hustle and hubbub._ _

__He learnt that Goren, the acting ruler of Starkhaven, was something of a laughing stock, but he was harmless enough the jokes and jests bore no venom. Of the councillors he heard mention of, it seemed there were two Sebastian ought to concern himself with; Ser Ackles, who sat in control of the royal coffers, and Ser Blair, who commanded the guard. Sebastian did not know either of the men, and wondered which families they had risen from, and what they had paid or promised for the privilege._ _

__There was news of Kirkwall too, and the mage uprising that was sweeping across the lands. In Tantervale to the west, it seemed that there had been a public hanging, where two mages had been captured. Sebastian gritted his teeth, and knew he would have to work faster than he had originally thought, for _hanging_ was not the fate he envisaged for the mages. No quick snap of rope would do, not at all._ _

__His mood was dark, and he was on his way back, when he saw a Templar walking briskly from the stalls and venders. He followed, at a distance, and saw the heavily armoured man make his way to the chantry, which seemed devoid of patrons. Curious, Sebastian watched as the Templar rapped on a door inside, and went inside. He was about to go up the steps himself, when a lady to his side coughed._ _

__“Dinnae be going there. That’d be where they’re holding the mages.”_ _

__“In the chantry?” The idea made him sick, the chantry itself being used as a prison for magi. After what Anders had done, he was surprised at the foolishness of it._ _

__“Aye. There are locks between them an’ us, and the Templar…” her voice sounded like she wanted to be reassured by the templar presence, but the proximity of the feared magic users explained all too well the absence of people attending the chantry._ _

__Sebastian nodded, and thanked her, and with the bundle of his purchases, made his way hurriedly back to the room._ _

__***_ _

__Even though time was of the essence, he still took Fenris to the forests, and the two spent hours in the wooded surroundings re-establishing their proficiencies with their weapons. Leaves and pine needles crunched underfoot, and though the clouds were grey and numerous, the weather stayed dry._ _

__He’d explained that they would not have as much time to recuperate from the barge trip as he would have liked, and he did not have to state that they would have to stay in two separate rooms while Sebastian found them a home. Fenris took the news in his usual stony-faced stride, but Sebastian could see the idea of being separated by night was not a welcome thought. To soften the blow, he mentioned that until they had more permanent residences, he could ask to have the porridge made with milk rather than water, for Fenris’s benefit._ _

__The offer did not lighten Fenris’s mood, and he swung his sword heavily, reducing a stump to splinters, as he struck again and again. Sebastian made no comment, and burned though his own displeasure at the turn of events by firing arrow after arrow at a different tree, dismayed at how far off his mark some of the shafts flew._ _

__Soon though, his arrows started to obey him better, and Fenris’s aggression seemed to ebb. They gathered the arrows, Fenris sometimes having to assist Sebastian in pulling a particularly embedded one from the surrounding trees, and made their way back to the inn. The guards gave them each a nod, as they passed through the fortified gate in the wall._ _

__Fenris went up the stairs, while Sebastian informed the innkeeper that they’d be likely moving on the next day, and settled their tab. He made preparations for breakfast, with honey and fruit for his companion, who he mentioned was not of Starkhaven, and this time, coin in hand with a fair tip, the inn keeper managed a thin smile at the request. Sebastian also asked for two wine glasses, which turned out to be the thickness of jamjars, and brought them up to their room._ _

__They had the wine while they set about the dull task of polishing armour and cleaning leathers. Their clothes hung wetly against the window, and would take days to dry in the Starkhaven climate, chilling and damp. A fire would hasten the process, but that was something that would have to wait, the small fire in the innkeep’s room much too small to do anything but smoke. Still, he’d bought them fresh clothes, and was pleased as Fenris held a shirt up against himself, that he’d managed to get the size nearly spot on._ _

__It had been tricky, judging what Fenris would willingly wear, and what would be tolerated clothing for an elf. Nothing too extravagant, nor revealing too much of his skin, in the end he’d settled for a light grey tunic, with ties to keep his sleeves from hindering his movements, a pair of dark muddy green trews, and a pair of undershirts, as he guessed that most likely Fenris would stick to wearing his armour, even though the streets of Starkhaven were much safer than Kirkwall, and neither had had to draw weapon in defence since leaving the wretched city of chains._ _

__

__His gold and white plate made respectable again, and Fenris’s leather cleaned of the salt and sweat of so much ship-travel, Sebastian went to fetch his shaving blade. He took it out, then gave a loud tut, after scanning round the room and finding it devoid of the item he required._ _

__“Ah… I forgot to purchase a looking glass…” Sebastian said, irritated that he’d have to delay further to go to the courts. He would have to wait till morning, when he would be able to find a mirror, because if there was something worse than going with a beard, it would be to go with a series of cuts on his faces, like he could not even manage to shave himself properly._ _

__Fenris got up from where he was polishing tree sap from his sword, and took the razor in his hand, assessing its edge._ _

__“Allow me.” he said._ _

__Sebastian felt the moment his breath grew heavy, and tilted his chin upwards, in silent consent._ _

__Fenris used oil to ease the blade, and though Sebastian’s beard readily absorbed the liquid, the first scrape of metal against him was so gentle he heard rather than felt it. When he looked, he saw Fenris focused, attending the task rather than meet his eyes, that same sharp stare he wore when in battle. Fenris worked diligently, and was quick, and Sebastian did not have to ask to know that this was not the first time Fenris had shaved another man. He must have frowned, wondering what Fenris was thinking as the elf repeated the actions of servitude, but Fenris started to speak, softly, his words not interrupting the steady slide of razor against his cheek._ _

__“Danarius used to have me shave him, and I learnt to be careful. You do not want to make a blood mage bleed….” He gave one of his standard huffs of near-mirth, the edge of it putting the shaving blade to shame._ _

__When not running along the contours of his face, Fenris flashed the blade downwards, using a piece of cloth to wipe the excess oil and cut hairs from the metal. It was oddly relaxing, as Fenris cleared the hair growth from Sebastian’s face. His hand was steady, and his touch to guide Sebastian to turn this way and that was light. Sebastian had been shaven before, but never so carefully, so intimately, as if Fenris was striping him away to his deepest layers. Yet he felt completely at ease, trusting Fenris with more than just the blade, but with his life, and his home city. Without Fenris, he could not have hoped to come this far._ _

__Soon, leaving Sebastian’s face cool but his blood hot, Fenris laid down the razor, clicking its horn handle off the wooden table. Before Sebastian could lift his own hands to feel his chin and cheeks again, Fenris’s fingers were there, accessing the job he had done, and appearing satisfied at the closeness of the cut._ _

__“You know… Danarius grew somewhat uncomfortable with me holding a blade so close to his neck. Hard to trust that a wolf would not turn, would not bite at the offered throat. He pretended to his peers that he wished to grow his beard out, even though it made him appear ten years older, and it never really stopped looking ratty and untamed…. All because I one day lingered, thinking how easy it would be to slash it across his neck…..” Fenris paused, and looked to Sebastian, suddenly aware that this was perhaps not the best conversation to have given that Sebastian had presented his throat so easily to the wolf._ _

__Sebastian gave a smile, and said, “Ah trust you.”_ _

__Fenris nodded, the notion still rather novel; “And I you.”_ _

__“Thank you.” Sebastian whispered, and they both knew it was for more than just the shave._ _

__

__***_ _

__//The next day, after donning armour and weapons, and striding out across the town, Sebastian and Fenris made their way to the council court, based in one of the grander buildings one side of the castle, and open to the public. It was a standing tradition that all court proceedings were out in the open, too many barbarian warlords before the Vaels making the people wary of those in power._ _

__Sebastian was recognised, which made getting into the court council relatively simple. He could have approached Goren and his councillors quietly, but he needed surprise on his side, and so wasted no time in asking to speak to the council immediately. Stunned, and a little lost, the guards admitted him. Fenris was even allowed to accompany the prince, even though the elf was dressed in his spikey leathers, bore a sword with a sure manner than told that he knew how to use it, and had made no effort to cover his ears. The closeness of his step to Sebastian’s, and the way his eyes seldom strayed from the prince, gave him the impression of a bodyguard, and a competent one at that._ _

__Guards watched, wary, as Sebastian stepped into court, and the main councillors, four in total, surrounding Goren, looked decidedly unsettled. The herald, after a brief consultation with a guard, announced Prince Sebastian Vael, and there was a collective holding of breath, while Sebastian took a confident step forwards. People in the galleries, normally watching with disinterest, had sat up to watch, and two people had run out, presumably to spread word that _something_ was happening. Sebastian looked to Goren, and bowed his head._ _

__“I am Sebastian Vael, direct blood of Lord Vael. I shall start, first and foremost, by reassuring the court I do not intend to make a claim to the throne. I see Starkhaven has prospered, and is in the good hands of Goren Vael. Furthermore, I renounce all right to the crown, and extend that to any sons or daughters I might have in the future.”_ _

__While Goren’s jaw dropped open at such an opening statement, the councils either side of him relaxed visibly, exactly as Sebastian wanted._ _

__“I have spent time in Kirkwall, and I am sure you have heard of the terrible fate that has befallen the chantry there. I have come home, to safeguard Starkhaven against such evil, and humbly request that I might serve my homeland.”_ _

__With this, he dropped to one knee, and studied the faces of the councillors. The man, who he guessed to be Blair, seemed reassured that his power was not under threat, and wore his relief openly on his face. The other two were similarly at ease, one even smiling at Sebastian’s words. They’d not announce him an imposter, not now, and they would let him speak, figuring the rest of his words would be so sweet. Goren, looked vaguely mystified at the proceedings, but Ackles, wearing a thick heavy gold chain, peered down at the kneeling prince._ _

__“How fortunate that you survived Kirkwall’s great tragedy,” he said slowly, measuring his words carefully, “the Templar will surely be made stronger with you among their ranks.”_ _

__“Forgive me, but I had a different role in mind.” Sebastian spoke clearly, always looking to Goren. Goren however, had been trained well, and said nothing, instead casting his eyes to his councillors waiting for them to ‘guide’ him._ _

__“Oh?” Blair this time spoke, genuinely surprised at Sebastian’s boldness._ _

__“I would ask to be made chantry protector, and work with the templar to support the warriors of the Maker.”_ _

__“Chantry protector…? Such a position does not exist.” Ackles’s did not sound happy, and Sebastian guessed that the man had already seen where Sebastian was leading the discussion._ _

__“Then we should rectify that, for if Kirkwall proves anything, it is that the Maker’s house needs to be kept safe and strong.”_ _

__Ackles’s narrowed his eyes, looking down on the man before him, reassessing the danger he posed to himself and the power he held. He glanced at Fenris, taking in the elf Sebastian had brought into court, and then noticed the galleries filling rapidly, as the markets rushed to see the prince’s unexpected return. Chatter rose, and he held his hands up._ _

__“Silence!” he bellowed, and turned to Sebastian, rising from his seat as Sebastian remained on a knee._ _

__“And what, dear _boy_ , would a ‘chantry protector’ do exactly?”_ _

__Sebastian’s eyes flashed, “Why, protect the chantry of course Ser… I do not know your name.”_ _

__Laughter from the galleries, and the sniggers directed at him caused the man’s colour to rise in his cheeks._ _

__“Ser Ackles.” He replied frostily, “And how would you protect our chantry? From what I hear, you were there when Kirkwall’s was destroyed, and you hardly managed to protect High Cleric Elthina, did you?”_ _

__There was a hush, and Sebastian dipped his head, and the remorse that touched his face was honest._ _

__“I was there, and I did fail to stop the abomination mage from laying waste to the chantry, and those inside. But it has taught me to be vigilant, and of the danger apostates pose. Rest assured, I will not make the same mistake again.” He lifted his head, determined, “And I will not allow Starkhaven to suffer the same.”_ _

__Sebastian got to his feet, not needing to look to the galleries to know all eyes were on him. “I will protect the chantry, and all of Starkhaven from magi. I will not allow them to keep our people in fear, nor let them work their terrible magics against us. I have already given up my bloodrights for sake of Starkhaven’s wellbeing, and I promise you, I will not rest until the mage threat is no more.”_ _

__A cheer, and Sebastian turned to Goren, walking up and ignoring that Ackles looked about ready to burst. Instead of the councillor’s words putting Sebastian down and in his place, Ser Ackles had granted the archer platform to win the crowd._ _

__Goren looked to Ackles, then Blair, who gave a grave nod, seeing that they could not refuse Sebastian, not with the people behind the wayward prince, and the request so very honourable._ _

__“Very well, I dub you Sebastian, Chantry Protector.”_ _

__“Whatever that means…” Ackles said snidely, loud enough for all the councillors and Sebastian to hear. Sebastian kept his face under careful control, and nodded to Goren._ _

__“Thank you m’lord. Firstly then, we ought to get the mages out of the chantry.”_ _

__Blair spluttered, at the speed at which Sebastian had moved to make demands, and shook his head._ _

__“Absolutely not. There is nowhere else. Besides, the mages have Templar watching them night and day; they are secure in the chantry.”_ _

__“I can hardly protect the chantry if it is being used to house _mages_.” Sebastian spat the word with obvious distaste, then folded his hand in front of him. “In these dark times, people need the Maker’s guidance more than ever, but they will not venture to the chantry to pray. And I cannot blame them, the chantry ought to be a place for prayer and light, not the containment of mages.”_ _

__“And where would you sent them, out onto the streets I suppose?” One of the other councillors had found their tongue, and spoke out. His voice was not as refined as his colleagues, and bore the marks of a family recently brought into power, his clothes rich but ill fitting. Sebastian made note, and decided this was probably Ser Kolin, whose family were merchants._ _

__Sebastian made a cutting motion with his hand. “Never, the people need to be kept safe. There are the Starkhaven castle dungeons… not the usual ones for the guards and their prisoners, but the ones under the standard cells. They are deep and fortified, and the Templar can keep watch on the mages just as easily underground. There is no safer place to keep the magi… for now.”_ _

__Ackles bristled, “For now?” he asked cagily._ _

__“Mages need a circle, and the Gallows of Kirkwall is in no fit state to keep control of the magi. Many will have escaped, and while I have every faith in the Templar to recapture the apostates, we must have a place to put them. A place to train Templar, as many as are needed. A place they can do no harm. Starkhaven will lead the way, as we have always done, and show them how a circle ought to be run, so that mages will not pose threat.”_ _

__“You want to rebuild Starkhaven’s circle…” Ackles voice had gone dangerously low, and he smiled thinly, deciding that Sebastian had asked for too much, and that Goren could easily dismiss the idea as folly._ _

__“It is not a matter of want, but need, and I will fund the building with my family’s own coin.” Ackles suddenly paled, and Sebastian gave him a little smile, knowing fine well his family’s riches would have already been taken and redistributed. Yet, as a Vael, he ought to have access to his inheritance, and so Ackles could not well admit, in court in front of the gathered crowds all staring down, that Sebastian could not. Sebastian could see his eyes working, trying to find a way to wriggle free of the net Sebastian had cast. The prince spoke again, and gave a nod to Goren._ _

__“ _And_ because I serve Starkhaven, save for a small amount enough to buy myself and my companion lodgings, I will donate any coin leftover from building a circle befitting our great city to the Starkhaven coffers.”_ _

__The noose tightened, and left Ackles no room to manoeuvre. If he complied, the fact he’d stolen the Vael fortune would never be brought to light, but if he tried to deny Sebastian, the people of Starkhaven would know him for a thief. The price of building a circle was a relatively small amount to pay, to keep his secret._ _

__He gritted his teeth, then looked Sebastian in the eye. “Very well.”_ _

__Sebastian gave a low bow._ _

__“My lord, you have my thanks. I shall leave you to your court, I am sure you have much to attend to. I shall draw up plans, and see about getting the mages moved.”_ _

__He cut an impressive figure, walking away, leaving behind him a quartet of shocked councillors, and a rather amused Goren. He doubted the court had ever been so interesting._ _


	10. Epilogue - part 2

“I find it hard to tell… did that go well?” Fenris asked as soon as they had a door between them and the outside world. Goren had graciously extended them a pair of rooms in Starkhaven castle, at behest of Ackles and Blair Sebastian suspected, the councillors surely wanting to get a better measure of this new player in their game. He had been asked to dinner as well, and though Fenris had failed to receive an invitation, Sebastian thought this might well be for the best, as the meal was likely to be more akin to the dwarven proving grounds than a welcome home feast. Sebastian had arranged for food to be brought to Fenris, and sat in Fenris’s chambers, readying himself for the scrutiny that would surely ensue during the meal.

“Perfectly.” Sebastian replied. He was feeling pleased with how things had went, the market place already abuzz with talk of the return of the prince. He had not even had to use Fenris, and could hold back the elf’s place in his plans for another time. Goren was everything he’d suspected however, more a puppet than a man, and he knew he would have to be mindful of the councillors.

Fenris looked doubtful. “You made an enemy of Ackles.” He stated.

“Intentionally.”

Fenris’s doubt manifested into a frown, and Sebastian checked the door was thick enough to speak freely.

“He’ll seek to destroy me.”

“And exactly how is that a good thing?”

“Because hatred is easily manipulated. You’ll see.”

Fenris was about to demand further elaboration, when elf servant knocked on their door and informed them dinner would be served shortly. Sebastian nodded, and told Fenris they would meet in the morning.

Sebastian had changed from his armour, and wore a simple tunic bought from the marketplace that day, and comfortable beeches, and took no weapon. He knew he’d judged the situation correctly, when he entered the dining hall to see each councillor dressed in their finest, Blair adorned in war medals, councillor Ackles in a large fur with gold highlights and an even thicker gold chain than before. Goren even wore a circlet, and Sebastian met each with a respectful bow, and sat down, holding his head high and smoothing his plain clothing.

“Ah, Sebastian, you might have said you did not have adequate clothing, I’d have had some sent to your room.”

Sebastian looked to Ser Yegor, who held the position of diplomacy councillor, and held his eyes, refusing to be intimidated.

“I was told this was a dinner with my cousin and his consort. Are my clothes unsuitable for the occasion?” he challenged, and smiled. Yegor shifted in his seat, seeing that indeed, it seemed rather odd that each man save for Sebastian was dressed as if for some grand ceremony. He said nothing, taking in how easily Sebastian sat, looking perfectly at ease, and as the first course was brought in. In comparison, the councillors, and even the ruler of Starkhaven, looked just a little ridiculous.

Dinner continued in much the same vein, the councillors taking turns with semi-veiled attempts to make Sebastian seem foolish, or jibes at his colourful past. All these, Sebastian handled with a smile, and referenced frequently the goodness of Elthina, and the Maker’s guiding light. Sebastian kept his every outward movement respectful, and his voice calm and level, so that the councillors could not even declare him impudent, or insane.

It was Blair who first lost his patience with the smooth way Sebastian deflected all insults and turned to the prince, rubbing a finger against his chin.

“I hear you are an accomplished archer these days…”

“I have some skill with a bow.” Sebastian replied, after finishing his mouthful of the main course, stewed beef.

“A shame then, that you were not there to protect your family. Mayhap your arrows might have saved them.”

Sebastian took a deep breath, but his reply came easily to him. He had blamed himself after the murder of his family, made the very same accusations of himself, that if only he had been home, he might have been able to do something other than survive his brothers, and mother, and father.

“The Maker saw fit that I was in Kirkwall at the time, and then He did deliver to me the perpetrators, that I might use my arrows against them. While I wish I could have been with my family in the end, if I had not been in Kirkwall, I would never have found the truth of the people behind their murder.”

Sebastian let his words hang in the air, and watched to see who would react. Blair, his jaw tightening as he realised Sebastian knew that Lady Harimann had hand in the Vael family massacre, and the other councillor, Kolin, coughed as he appeared to have difficulty swallowing down a piece of beef.

Ackles thought, did not seem to recognise the meaning behind Sebastian’s statement, _Interesting_ , Sebastian thought, and could almost believe that Ackles knew nothing of the Harimann’s and their treachery. Goren too, seemed oblivious that the throne under him had been bought in blood. Sebastian had not meant to bring up Harimann at all, as far as he was concerned the damage was done and the demon at the root of the problem dealt with. He _could_ try and oust the more crooked of the councillors, but though he had blood on his side, his word against a whole council was a battle he knew he would be hard pressed to win. 

But he didn’t need to win the battle, when only the war mattered. He had the knowledge, and had just to trust that the councillors would seek to appease him, so that he would keep their dark secrets. Already, there was a letter detailing all he knew, sealed and signed, in a vault in the Starkhaven bank, with a note that it was only to be opened should Sebastian fail to return each season. 

Blair puffed up in his chair, and Kolin looked positively terrified. He would let Kolin know of the letter, to ensure the frightened man did not interfere, but Blair would likely not be scared into submission so easily. Sebastian flashed a smile, and turned to the remaining councillors, and waited for them to make their move.

“You speak of the Maker a great deal. Are the rumours correct then, that you are sworn to the chantry?” Not Ackles, the coffer councillor had learnt his lesson, and was bidding his time, but the forth, a young gentleman who wore silks of blue and white, and had introduced himself as Yegor. He was brash, and gave the impression of being somewhat vain, and seemed to Sebastian to resemble himself of his younger days, allowed to grow up and keep the same terrible selfish habits. 

“More or less.”

“I find that hard to believe, you were such a ladies man before.” Yegor spoke with disbelief, just enough to call into question Sebastian’s honesty. 

“Ah. I will admit, I was something of a menace. But, well, I figured I best give the likes of yourself a turn at the fair women of Starkhaven.” The comment was not cutting, and if repeated Yegor would be hard pressed to point out the sting in the words, yet it still caused him to snap his mouth shut angrily. Something in the way Sebastian spoke, smooth, smiling, far more charming and able than Yegor could ever hope to be, and that slight inflection on each word indicating that Sebastian knew it.

And then, there it was, the triumph of the evening, as Goren, finally breaking free the councillor’s reigns, laughed at Yegor’s discomfort, and defeat.

Sebastian gave a sly wink to the man, who the councillors had ignored in their desperate bid to attack the returned prince, and leaned over conspiratorially.

“M’lord, I fear tales of some of my exploits do not make for appropriate table conversation. However, rather than speak of the pleasures I no longer indulge in, might I suggest we change the subject? I could tell you of the time I accompanied the champion of Kirkwall, as he did battle with a high dragon.”

“Really?” Goren was obviously interested, and any attempts to pry further into Sebastian’s personal life and supposed chastity were abandoned. Sebastian gave a nod, and readied himself to tell the story, placing Hawke as the hero, and himself a mere observer who happened to shoot a couple of arrows in the right direction, so as not to seem boastful. 

He was at the point where Hawke had cut into the beast’s flanks with his daggers, when Blair scoffed loudly.

“Doubtful. Those things are massive, and take an army to vanquish. Most like you fought a drake, or maybe even a dragonling, fresh hatched.”

Yegor tittered, and Sebastian suspected he spent too much time around Orliasians. Kolin, still not quite recovered from learning Sebastian knew of Harimann, only managed a weak smile.

Sebastian tipped his head, and looked at Blair. 

“How far apart would you say the claws of a high dragon spanned?”

“Easily the length of a man’s forearm.”

Sebastian gave a nod, and took on a tone of respect for Blair’s knowledge. “That’s actually pretty accurate.” He made to lift his tunic, then glanced at Goren, “May I?”

Neither Blair nor Ackles were quick enough to stop him, as Goren gestured for Sebastian to continue, fascinated, and Sebastian lifted his tunic to reveal the set of high dragon marks across his side. Blair might have tried to claim the marks were from some clumsy accident, or smaller monster, but he gasped aloud, seeing the pale scars and knowing how deep they must have dug. It gave the commander of the guard, clearly a man of war and battle, pause for thought, and even though he might not readily admit it, there was a shine of acknowledgement in his eyes when he next met Sebastian’s. Sebastian turned, letting the tunic drop down, “If it weren’t for Hawke I’d be a dead man. I owe much to Kirkwall’s champion. And Ser Blair, you must have a fine eye to be able to so precisely judge a beast. Have you battled much yourself?”

Blair nodded and, cautious, began a story of how he and a few others had once taken down a nest of giant spiders, expecting at any moment Sebastian to launch into an even grander tale. 

But he didn’t.

Sebastian made appropriate acclamations of Blair’s bravery, and watched as the glimmer of regard grew to something more like respect. Goren, too, who apparently had not known his councillor to have such a history, looked upon Blair with great admiration, and even asked a few questions, till Blair practically shone with pride. 

The meal was concluded with Goren announcing a toast to his brave commander of the guard, which Sebastian happily drank to. As he left, he could feel Ackles’s eyes burning into him, but did not let that detract from the fact that Blair bid him good evening, and very likely meant it.

As he walked back to his room, he thought to himself, _One down…_.

***

The night was long and lonely, and so he woke early to take Fenris breakfast. His room and Fenris’s were apart, but both suitable for honoured guests. It was a fair walk from the kitchens, but Sebastian managed the tray, spilling the milk from the jug only a little. Once they were sure the door was shut, Sebastian told of his success with Blair. 

“Can a man be won over so easily?”

Sebastian grinned into his milky porridge, “I _can_ be rather charming, when I put my mind to it. And I shall send a missive to Kolin today, merely stating that a full account of my time in Kirkwall is sealed, but that I will be much too busy to reveal it, in my efforts to protect the chantry. It should be enough to dissuade him from getting in the way.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, as he prodded at a large lump with his spoon. “You play a dangerous game. I hope you know what you are doing.”

“I do. It is relatively safe, as long as there is Goren. The councils have to mind themselves around him, to keep their pet ruler blinkered. Poor sod, he doesn’t stand a chance, they all have the wool pulled twice over his eyes.”

“Hmm.”

Sebastian finished his bowl, and clicked the spoon down on the table. He could sit, and discuss with Fenris the merits of a council, rather than a solitary man to bare the responsibilities of a city-state such as Starkhaven, but it was too soon to tell whether the current councillors were as corrupt as he had feared. Starkhaven certainly did not seem to be suffering, and though he wondered how Kolin and Blair slept at night, he had the feeling that they merely seized the opportunity granted, rather than had actual hand in his family’s murder.

“Come on.” He announced, “Its time we went to see the chantry and the Templars.”

****

“I dislike the way they look at me.” Fenris hissed low, as Sebastian and the elf were led to meet the current leader of the twenty-strong Templar force.

Sebastian looked up, and saw the glint of greed in the eyes of the nearest Templar, his helmet off while addressing the not-quite prince, but his gaze drifting to take in the lyrium’d elf. He decided _he_ did not much like such stares directed at _his_ lover either. However, as they’d agreed before they had set out for the chantry, Fenris did need to be seen if he was later to aid the Templar in tracking down apostates, his ability to resist magics making him ideal for the task of handling stray mages.

The Templar of Starkhaven, and the mages they guarded, were something of an oddity. Starkhaven had been an independent city-state for an age, and this notion of separation had been adopted by a small group of Templar, who had not wanted to leave, even though the circle had burned down. They had elected to remain within Starkhaven’s walls, and established a system of sending pigeons back and forth from the Gallows of Kirkwall, and Val Royeaux. They were generally kept informed of events, but always treated as an isolated unit, in theory under the same rules and regiments as the other Templar, but their one stand of independence making them somewhat separate from the rest of the order. The Divine _could_ press demands, but refrained, as it would cause all manner of political difficulties. Ordering the Templar to obey would be seen as challenging Starkhaven’s right to rule itself, the Templar viewed as having the same independence as the city itself claimed from the Free Marches. 

If such loosely connected status bothered the Templar, they did not show it. Their armour shone, and the clanking of each of their steps sounded out loud in the chantry, though there was not a mage to be seen. It was not entirely surprising, to find that the mages were gathered in the small storerooms to the back of the chantry, as they did not have anyone to protest the treatment to. The mages of Starkhaven, who had had not been sent to the gallows, or who had been recently apprehended, had no contact with the other circle magi. They were kept, supposedly safe, and operated under the ruling that if they did not cast, they would not be punished. Such measures were enforced by the Templar with no exceptions, though lately, even the total ban on magic was not enough to calm the sense of rising unease of the townsfolk at having mages in Starkhaven, and petitions had been launched to send the mages away to the circle tower of Ferelden, the nearest circle still standing. 

The Templar however, had the last say in the fate of the mages, and they had decided to stay. If having their circle burnt to the ground had not convinced them to leave, a few pieces of parchment were certainly not going to shift the Templar from their adopted home and risk long journey across treacherous winter seas.

The isolation from the Divine, and the mage circles, seemed to Sebastian to be both a curse and an unexpected boon. Far from the Divine’s direct guidance, the Templar may have started to stray from the path of light, however, with winter fast approaching and all travel slowed by adverse weather, it would be a while for the other circles to hear about Sebastian, and what he intended to do. By the time it would take to collect enough information and react, it would be far too late for anyone to stop him.

He smiled inwardly, and readied himself to meet Lyond, the head Templar, a man of many years’ experience, and Starkhaven born. 

“Ser Vael?” The head Templar was a board shouldered man, very close cut dark hair and the shadow of a beard on his face. He looked disgruntled, probably at the proposed relocation.

“Call me Sebastian, please.”

“As you like. Care to explain, _Sebastian_ , why we have to shift nine mages into the bowels of yonder castle, when we were minding them quite well enough right here?”

“Matter of security.” Sebastian answered, taking the seat across from Lyond’s desk, which was cluttered with papers and chewed pencils. Fenris stood behind him, no chair offered the elf, and knowing he had a warrior at his back allowed Sebastian to relax, in the face of Lyond’s obvious animosity.

The Templar Lyond, grumbled under his breath, and looked Sebastian up and down, then scowled, as if he did not like what he saw. Sebastian bore the distasteful glare, and set his hands upon the table, careful not to disrupt the parchments.

“You cannot think that it is suitable to have magi here, in the chantry, in the heart of the Maker’s house?”

“Well, there was no-where much else. Don’t worry yerself, we did clear out all the little chantry brothers and sisters, so they’d not get corrupted.”

“Where are they? They can hardly follow their calling if you’ve displaced them to the streets.”

“Don’t know, probably scattered across town. Before you get yourself any more uppity, it’s not like we had much of a choice. We had to move the mages. We _were_ set up in a warehouse, down near the alienage, same as we’ve been for months, but after what happened in Kirkwall, some ruddy smart-arse local with a vendetta tried to burn the place down with _my_ men inside an’ all. Got ‘em out, no harm done, but I sure wasn’t going to stay there after that. It’s the people, they’re near as bad as the blighted mages, chock full of the jitters, and I’ve had to shout down more than a few stone throwers. They don’t care if they hit a Templar to the side of the head with a poor-aimed rock, not when they have chance to strike out against a mage. Ought to place the lot of the filthy mage blighters in stocks, and let the people have their way….”

Sebastian frowned, and sat back in his seat. “No one told me you were suffering so. It’s not right, the Templar should be respected, and free to concentrate on their Maker-given task, not have to fend off the fearful. Have any of your men, or ladies, been injured?”

Lyond looked at Sebastian, and immediately, the archer could tell that it was the first time anyone had thought to ask such a question.

“All in one piece, my men, they’re strong enough.”

“I have no doubt. It is a difficult line of work, and rarely appreciated. I’ll bet it has been an age since any of you had some decent time off, or chance for proper confession, or even a nod of acknowledgment for your continued efforts to keep our city safe.”

The Templar looked at Sebastian, rapidly reassessing the archer. “Right by all counts.” He said grimily.

“Well, I cannot force the people to thank you, but I can listen to your confessions, and give you the deep dungeons. They may be a little darker, but you’ll need fewer men on the doors to guard the mages. With a bit of clever work on the rota, your men could get the rest they need, yourself included. And, you’d be away from the townsfolk.”

Lyond’s eyes widened at the idea, something altogether sinister forming in his mind. He was mid-way through a lop-sided leer, when he frowned, suddenly suspicious.

“Why? Why do all this? I hear you’re paying out your pocket for a new circle too, and no offence, but you have not been all that forthcoming about your motives or schemes.”

Sebastian bridged his hands, and looked to Fenris, then back to Lyond. “Something needs to be done about the mages. Kirkwall’s tragedy is only the start, and I would work to prevent any more harm. The Templar are of the chantry, yes? As such, you answer to the Divine. That ties your hands, binds them tight. You are not able to do the necessary, not just to handle your collection of mages for now, but to ensure that future generations need not fear the magi.” Sebastian dropped his voice, locking eyes with Lyond. “But I can.”

“There are dark days ahead,” he continued, “and Starkhaven will need to stand strong not to be consumed by the war between Templar and magi. We will need our Templar, cleansed and valiant, if we are to eliminate the mage threat.”

Lyond clicked his teeth. “Only one sure way to make a mage harmless, and that’s put a sword through their neck.” Fenris gave a small grunt of agreement, and Lyond made no move to apologise for his words.

“There is another way.” Sebastian said softly, and Lyond’s eyes widened. 

“You don’t mean…” 

Sebastian held up a hand, and pressed a finger to his lips meaningfully. “If you do not speak the words, they cannot incriminate you. The Templar need to be pure, need to be something the people can believe in, warriors shining with the Maker’s light. However… I am no Templar.”

Lyond looked to Sebastian, rubbing his chin. “I don’t rightly know what you are.”

Sebastian smiled thinly, “Think of me as a shield. I will protect the chantry, and the Templar. I will hold myself between what must be done and yourself, and hide from view how I shall deal with the mages. If you keep your distance, no blame can be assigned to you, or your fine men. I’ll cast the shadow, and should it come to it, I’ll take the blame. And, if you’ll let me, I will do the deeds that will save Starkhaven, and you will not have to worry about getting your hands dirty. All you have to do is your duties, as a Templar and warrior of the Maker, I shall do the rest.”

“And you say you’ll deal with the mages. Once and for all?”

“Once and for all.” Sebastian agreed. 

The Templar shifted forward in his seat, and reached a hand towards Sebastian, pointing. “You’re a sneaky bastard, but you’ve got the right idea. As you say, us Templar can’t do what is needed, the Divine would still tear me a new one, probably march herself all the way from Val Royeaux, even if all I was doing was making the world a more… _tranquil_ place.”

Sebastian winced at the poor pun, but managed to keep his composure. Lyond did not seem to notice.

“I’ll get the mages rounded up, and we’ll drag them down to the dungeons.” He said, and turned his hand so his palm was offered to Sebastian.

Sebastian took the hand and gave it a solid shake, and stood up. “I’ll want to have words with the Head Enchanter.”

Lyond snorted, “There ain’t one. This ain’t no circle.”

Sebastian frowned, “Then have the mages select a representative. When the time is right, I’ll speak with both you and whoever the mages have chosen.” He dropped his voice to a low hiss, clenching his fist, “We will start with them.”

Lyond chuckled, a dark noise, like bubbling mud. “I almost pity the poor sod.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, suddenly interested, “Really?”

“Naw. Not really.”

Sebastian gave a nod at that, and stood. He arranged a time where he would be available to take confession, and then led himself and Fenris out. 

The chantry sisters and brothers were absent as Lyond had said, so there was no-one to speak with as Sebastian looked over chantry, taking in the familiar high walls and massive hall. No candles burned, and it saddened him to see the pews so empty, fear driving away all the faithful. It was the fault of Anders, again, the abomination’s reach stretching across the land, tainting everything. Sebastian would have to work hard, and work fast to save Starkhaven, before the revolution between Templar and mage could take root. 

His meeting with Lyond had left him on edge, and he wondered how far he could trust the man obviously not used to minding his tongue. The silence held over the chantry did not grant him the peace he had hoped the sight of the great glass windows and craved stone pillars might have instilled in him. Taking one last look, he turned, and walked with Fenris back to the guest rooms, the silence following them.

***

“He was… worse than I had envisioned.” Sebastian admitted, finally, once they were back in Sebastian’s room, eating a platter of bread, fruit, meats and cheese. The Templar were supposed to be the Maker’s warriors, but between seeing the rottenness in the ranks of Kirkwall, and hearing Anders’s tales (if the abomination could be believed), it was hard to trust that every Templar could be relied upon to uphold the values of the chantry. He had hoped that far from Kirkwall’s corrupting influence, Starkhaven might still have Templars he could count on, but from the cold and cruel smirk Lyond had displayed unnerved him.

“It doesn’t change the plan though.” Fenris stated, as he took a chuck of meat and chewed it thoughtfully.

“No. No it doesn’t.” Sebastian replied, too distracted to eat much of the food in front of him. Fenris too, had surprised him, though he would never admit it to the elf. That soft noise of approval, as Lyond spoke of killing mages, should not have shocked him. Yet, Sebastian had seen Fenris, despite his past, stand by mages in battle, and even play cards with them come evenings. He’d thought that his anger had perhaps been tempered, but it was clear he still harboured great resentment for any and all magic users.

It might have been an unsavoury thought, that his friend, his lover, could hold so much hate in his heart still, but at the same time, Sebastian knew he was depending on that ruthlessness. Fenris would take all the wrongs done to him, all the pain and suffering, and use it, channel it to Sebastian’s advantage. Starkhaven’s advantage.

He got to his feet, brushing crumbs from his front and covering the cheese with a cloth so they might have the remainder for supper. There was a long day’s work ahead, shifting clean straw mattresses down to the dungeons, and supplying enough candles, lanterns and oil burners that the underground depths would not feel quite so claustrophobic for the Templar, or magi. The last thing he needed was a mage panicking and turning to blood magic. 

“Are… you having second thoughts?” Fenris had caught the way Sebastian had looked at him, the way Sebastian’s face had grown tight as he realised he did not much care for Lyond, his cruelty unbefitting a warrior of the Maker. His green eyes were deep, and questioning.

Sebastian _had_ wondered at his plan, at the sheer amount of intrigue it required, the manipulations and manoeuvring. It was not strictly following the chantry, but if Elthina had taught him anything, it was he could not live his life by the chant alone, and sometimes a man had to forge his own path.

And there was no doubt in his mind his path was a righteous one. Nearly everything the hated healer had written in his damned manifesto, Sebastian would stand against. Whereas Anders had tries to abolish the circles, Sebastian would make them strong. Instead of freedom for all magi, he’d gather the magic users, track down the apostates, and bring them to his newly formed circle.

There was a small wicked satisfaction in knowing that he was planning to undo everything Anders had worked for, unravelling the abomination’s ambitions, the brutality of the mage’s actions spurring him on. When he felt tired, or unsure, he would see in his mind that flash over Kirkwall, see the destruction of his beloved chantry. It steeled his resolved, and empowered him to continue.

He shook his head, no he did was not second guessing himself, not after coming so far already, and smiled. He was about to steal a brief kiss from Fenris when there was a knock upon his door. Sebastian got to his feet, already irritated at the interruption, and opened it to find a scantily clad lady, batting her lashes as if she had dust in her eyes.

“Maker’s breath… “He muttered, as Fenris came up behind him and looked over his shoulder. He did not have to look to know Fenris was scowling his hardest, and the lady’s eyebrows rose high in surprise at seeing a second person in the room.

“I… was sent to warm your bed…” she started, trying not to stare at Fenris.

“I do not need my bed warmed.” Sebastian’s tone was cold, tinged with annoyance. 

“Do I not please you?” Her voice was strained, and not as soft and sweet as she was trying to force it to be. Seeing Sebastian look so unimpressed, and Fenris with his own trademark tight mouth narrowed eyes, Sebastian was not too surprised to see the lady’s resolve falter.

Yegor was responsible, Sebastian guessed, and nearly laughed at the ludicrousness of the situation. He was sorely tempted to set Fenris upon her, knowing the elf would be fierce and fearsome, but held back, as the poor girl did not entirely deserve the elf’s jealousy.

“My lady, thought flattered, I am afraid I must refuse.”

She looked at Fenris, and with a sly slide of her eyes back to Sebastian, whispered “I could come back later.”

“No, I shall be asleep later.”

“I would be so good for you... so very good…” 

“No. I cannot say it any clearer.”

Fenris then, shifting behind him, gently pushed Sebastian out the way and took a step forward, filling the doorframe.

“ **Go away.** ”

The hiss of the words sent the lady-whore scarping off, and Sebastian shut the door, leaning heavily against the wood. 

The archer rubbed his left temple, and remembered that while there was a certain pleasure to be found in the politicking games of court, at times they could be most trying. Especially when the players held little regard for the people they dragged into the game. Yegor was a fool, or desperate, or a dangerous combination of both, though if this was the best the man could come up with to mar his name, Sebastian knew he ought to be grateful.

Fenris gave a derisive snort towards the girl now gone, and laid a hand upon Sebastian’s shoulder, steading him, though the prince had no trouble with his balance.

Sebastian sighed, and looked to his room, pleasant enough, but without Fenris he could not much enjoy the lavish drapes nor soft feather bed. “The sooner we can get our own accommodation, the better. Let us go and sort out the dungeons, then we can have a look around town for a suitable house.”

“Together? It would look better… if you did it yourself.” Fenris spoke with a slow burn behind his voice, and Sebastian realised that much as he hated the idea, Fenris was right. Taking an elf to a prospective home and asking his option… it would be highly unusual, and raise questions hard to answer.

Sebastian gave a grave nod. “True.”

Fenris had been tolerant of the role required of him, to say little and follow Sebastian’s steps, warding off any notions that Sebastian was a prince defenceless, but the archer could see the silence was strangling the elf. He could not say much, for fear of upsetting the careful working of The Plan, and the brief moments where they could speak freely were increasingly hard to come by, Sebastian ever mindful that they were likely watched. It was not the same as being on the boat, when they could at least be open about their friendship, the distance they needed to maintain in Starkhaven was much more intense, and worrisome.

He had not raised the issue directly, that Fenris had fallen too quickly into the mannerisms of a bodyguard, and that even when the doors were closed, Fenris held a tension throughout his whole body, and smiled less often than he had on the boat and barge. Sebastian could see the trap, that Fenris might slip into his old habits, losing that bright edge to his wit, losing his will to speak out should he disagree. To begin to think himself as nothing but a bodyguard, instead of Sebastian’s partner.

Though he liked knowing Fenris was near, time apart might be just the thing for Fenris to rekindle himself, remember his own strength and that while in public he had to follow Sebastian’s lead, out of sight he was equal, and very much valued.

“Rather than traipsing around in a dark and dank dungeon, you could… visit the city.” Sebastian suggested, his tone light, flippant, “You’ve not had the chance yet, and things are likely to get very hectic soon. Starkhaven has many taverns, stalls… the farmers’ market ought to still be running, and they sell all sorts there, cheeses, honey, breads. Or there is the forest, if you wish to walk, or take your sword for practice.”

Fenris considered, and then tipped his head to the side, “I more could do with practice with the accent. I think I shall go find a tavern and listen.”

Sebastian smiled, remember Fenris’s difficulty with Todd and the Starkhaven nuances of speech. He nodded, thinking it was actually a fairly sensible way of spending his time.

“If... you wanted, while out, you could mention that we plan to do something about the magi. Gage the people’s reactions, it could be worthwhile to find out how hard we are going to have to fight to change things, or if the people want a more permanent solution. Feel free to mention that we both have a number of blood mage kills under our belts, ought to be good for a drink on the house.”

Fenris gave a nod, and checked his coin pouch. Sebastian had divided the money gained from the candlesticks between them equally, and watched as Fenris transferred a few coin from a pouch on the inside of his armour to a more readily available location, keeping the majority hidden. Sebastian was doing the same, the safest place by far was to have his money was on his person, but his day to day pouch held but a fraction of the coin, the rest tucked away from view.

“Very well. I shall meet you back here, come evening?” Fenris said, straightening his armour. Whilst it might not be the most typical of tavern-wear, it would certainly serve to give any would be thugs pause for thought before causing Fenris any form of trouble.

Sebastian nodded, and, before opening the door and resuming their distance, moved and planted a tender kiss to Fenris’s lips. The sharp spike of want that coursed through him, making it difficult to pull away, drove him to resolve to hurry and find them private residence, away from the councillors and their spies.

****  
Sebastian took a pair of Templar with him to the dungeons, and though the men to begin with were tight-lipped, on seeing Sebastian haul his share of the mattresses down the twisting stairs, and calling a rest when he saw either of them struggle with the weight of the lumps of straw, heavy and cumbersome, they soon started to chat while they each caught their breath.

The first thing they asked, once Sebastian had pulled a large skein of ale to help with the work, was what it had been like, being in Kirkwall when the abomination Anders had struck.

He had looked at the ground, and then clenched a hand, remembering the flood of emotions, and then, the deadness that had followed, as if his rage had burned away everything else. He sighed, and lifted his head to the men, “Honestly, it felt like he’d cut into my chest. Watching the fires, hearing the screams… I had not known a man could be capable of such evil.”

“Ah, but he weren’t a man, was he? He was a mage.”

“Indeed.” Sebastian said grimly. “How are the mages here reacting to the news?”

“They are nervous, twitchy. One did try and make a run for it, must have figured that the times of tolerating magi were near done. Lyond caught him though, and broke a leg. Won’t be doing much running now.” The Templar smirked, and the other looked just a little unsettled. He licked his lips, and again, before he finally turned to Sebastian.

“My Laird… after we get the mages to the dungeons… what next? You’re building a circle, right enough, but it’ll be months before anything is ready. And Lyond, he says you’re going to sort the mages out good… What… what are you going to do?”

Sebastian looked the younger Templar in the eye, “Anders the apostate destroyed a chantry, killing innocent people, good people, in the process. He claimed it was for the benefit of all mages, so I feel all magi should bare the repercussions of his actions. Rest assured, the mages will get what they deserve.”

The younger Templar looked like he might say something, possibly protest, while the other smirked wider, seeing the colder than dungeon stone look in Sebastian’s eyes. Sebastian made careful note of the younger’s face, a man who would speak out against him, a man he would have to keep an eye on. Then he got to his feet, brushing the grime from his heavy workclothes, his armour having been unsuitable for such hard labour.

He got a name to go with the face; Ron, as they finished supplying the dingy dungeons with enough bedding for off-duty Templar and mages, and made sure the worst of the mould and filth had been swept from the floors. By the end, all three were dirt-streaked, and weary, but the dungeons were at least liveable. Sebastian had some incense lit to hide the staleness to the air, and the torches on the walls crackled brightly.

He bid both Templars farewell, thanking them for their efforts and promising they would have both Fenris’s sword and his own arrows to guard them as they transferred the mages to the dungeons the next day. Then, aware he was in no fit state for house viewing; he headed to the washrooms to make himself presentable.

He had the slow burn of hard work, deep within his muscles, and though the ache at times bordered on unpleasant, the satisfaction at a good day’s work more than made up. His armour weighted heavy, but that did not stop him holding his head high, as he went in the direction of the houses available. The first was serviceable, a statehouse with more rooms than he or Fenris could hope to fill, but the second, although smaller, was closer to the chantry. It even had a mostly secluded garden, big enough to swing a sword about, though not the space for proper target practice with a bow.

Sebastian did not bother to bargain the price down of the second house from the figure quoted him, as Ser Ackles would be paying, and said he would contemplate the property over the night, and come back with an answer the next morning. He also carefully noted the identifying features of the house, so that Fenris might be able to have a look himself before they agreed to buy.

When he returned to his room, he was surprised to find Fenris pacing in front of his door, and clearly agitated.

“They have moved me to the servant’s quarters!” he growled, and Sebastian hustled him inside.

“I apologise, I did not think they would move so quickly.” Sebastian gave a long sigh, knowing that this new development would steal from the day’s successes. “I imagine they’ll say something about wanting you to feel more at home, amongst your fellow elves, and I am afraid there is not much I can do. They are trying to test us, and unfortunately, though your proximity to myself, you are a target as well.”

Fenris scowled, then rolled his shoulders, as if trying to shrug off his anger. “I know… but it will make my visits more obvious… It would be unwise for me to be here more than absolutely necessary.”

“Yes… Void take them, we are so close… I just need a few more days… Do you think that you can bear with it?”

“I can try.”

“Good.” Sebastian had no doubt Fenris would survive the reduced contact, even if it was a trial. But he knew the elf’s patience was not never-ending, and hoped, very quietly, that all this would all be worth it.

***

Fenris had gone to see the house at night, and declared it more than acceptable. Sebastian wrote to Ackles requesting the money to buy the property. He handed over the note personally, to avoid Ackles being able to claim he had failed to receive the paper, and the councillor glared at the piece of parchment. Sebastian did not want to stop, and listen to any of the excuses Ackles might come up with of why he couldn’t give him the money straightaway, so declared that he had Templar to assist, and made his swift exit.

The transfer of the magi was watched, warily, by many of the townsfolk. Fenris had mentioned that while out in Starkhaven, discovering a taste for ale so dark you could not see through it, that the people had seemed tense, and the subject of the mages came up frequently without him prompting. They were fearful, and most supported the idea of sending the magi to the dungeons, as far from them as possible.

Sebastian, sat high on one of the rooftops, easily visible with his armour, arrows trained on the slow walk, and in one case limp, of mages, was glad of his decision to help with the move. Surrounded by Templar and one partially violent looking elf with a rather large sword, as well as knowing Sebastian was watching, the mages would have had to be extremely foolish to attempt escape, and to their credit, none dared. 

There was a cheer as the mages left the sunlight, descending into the pits of Starkhaven castle, and Sebastian climbed down gracefully from his vantage point, to be congratulated by various townsfolk in giving them back their chantry. Word of his promise to deal with the mage threat had got loose, and people were curious, probing and prying, trying to hear what Sebastian had in mind.

“All in good time. However… I do need some supplies….” He had said, and produced a list. Iron bars, of varying sizes, rope and shards of metal, and meat on the verge of going off.

He could see people look at him, unsettled, wondering what use he could have for such ominous items, and he turned to Fenris, and dipped his head, the slightest of smiles, small, and strange, on his face. It did little to reassure people, but, because he was a prince, he was promised the items would be gathered as soon as possible, and delivered to…

“The dungeons of course.” He answered smoothly. “After all, they are for the magi.”

*****

He had been expecting his actions to cause a stir, and when a flustered page came up and handed over a note asking Sebastian to present himself to the council, Sebastian did not delay and made his way to the council court, Fenris at his side.

He was not guided to the public galleries, instead taken to a side room, where the four councillors, Goren and Lyond the head Templar were waiting for him. 

“You go too far Sebastian. The mages are in the dungeons, as you requested, but now I hear talk of you taking a personal hand in dealing with the mages. That is the realm of the Templar, and you have no business meddling.” Yegor was angry, and did not seem to see the look that passed between Sebastian and Lyond, Sebastian seeing at once Lyond had not been part of calling this meeting together. _Good,_ Sebastian thought, for as much as the man set his teeth on edge, Lyond had seemed happy with Sebastian’s proposals, as much as the archer had been able to tell him. It meant, as well as Fenris’s ever reassuring presence, he had at least one other he could count on.

The councillors however, were not happy; Sebastian was disrupting their power, working outwith their control. He could see that Yegor and Ackles would like nothing better than to strip him of his rank, and throw him to the streets, while Blair was wary, and had decided to side with them for the time being. Goren, and the timid Kolin, seemed to be satisfied that Sebastian had so far done no harm, but they were outnumbered. Lyond, there only as a token Templar presence, and not given chance to say much more than ‘yes Ser’, looked tired at the proceedings.

Sebastian allowed Fenris to come and stand at his side, and opened his hands in front of him.   
“As chantry protector, I am doing what I must. For the chantry to be safe, the mages have to be dealt with.”

“And would you say that our Templar are not doing exactly that?”

Sebastian shook his head, “No. The Templar work hard to keep the people safe from the mages, but it is treating the symptoms, rather than the source. I would put into place a more permanent solution. The best way… no, the _only_ way to deal with magi.”

Ser Ackles, billed for Sebastian’s new home and determined to see Sebastian shamed, glared. “Empty promises, you are all talk Sebastian, and frankly, I grow tired of your chatter.”

Sebastian straightened, “Fine. I can guarantee you, that if you give me control over the mages, along with the aid of the Templar of course, that they will never pose harm to Starkhaven.”

Ackles looked at Sebastian, surprised at such a move. It seemed the prince had finally erred, stepping too far and promising too much. 

“A bold claim…” Ackles had started to smile, and he bridged his hands in front of him. “ _If_ you can deliver upon it…”

“Grant me a season, that is all I ask.”

Ackles looked smug, and he sat back in his chair. He could see Sebastian, confident and popular and so-far untouchable, but knew that if he gave the archer-prince enough rope, he might just hang himself, and save Ackles the trouble of trying to remove his presence.

“As you wish, Sebastian. Upon your head be it should you fail.”

“However… “ Sebastian said, ignoring the gleam in Ackels’s eyes. “We ought to ask Lyond himself, as Head Templar surely he gets a say. Lyond, might I have your permission, to do whatever it takes to put an end to the mage threat?”

“Yes.” Lyond answered briskly, and crossed his arms. Ackles might have been surprised at the Templar’s response, but Sebastian would guess he had seen that the councillor of the coffers could not lose. Should Sebastian succeed, then he would be the one who had granted the power to the man, and should he not, well, Sebastian had just announced himself the sole scapegoat. 

With no opposition, and nothing left to stand in his way, and all the pieces in place, Sebastian gave Lyond a nod.

“We will start. Tonight.”

***

The room Sebastian had set up for the meeting of Lyond and the mages’ representative was as far from the rest as possible, and one of the few rooms with the luxury of a door. It sat, heavy and solid in its frame, and was opened by Fenris, as he gestured Lyond and the mage inside, shutting it firmly behind them.

Rumours must have been flying fast, because though the robed woman shied away from the Templar, when she saw Sebastian waiting for them, she seemed positivity terrified. That Fenris took up position behind Sebastian, his stance ready, sword out and held in front of him, could have hardly helped the mage feel at ease. The iron rods and rope had arrived, and the Templar had been discussing all day what use they would be put to, their comments entirely within earshot due to the confines of the space in the dungeons. Not to mention, it was well known Sebastian had suffered greatly when Anders had destroyed the chantry in Kirkwall, and the council had handed him the power to deal with the mage threat.

“Sit.” He said, looking intently over the mage before him. She tried, as much as possible, to sit as far from _him_ , rather than the Templar to her side, even though Lyond was leering in her direction with a twisted smile.

“Your name please?”

“Dores… Dores Thanth.” Lyond answered for her, not allowing the mage chance to speak. Sebastian looked at Lyond as if the Templar had acted exactly as he would have guessed, and sucked in a breath. He fixed his eyes forwards, his hands folded in front of him.

“Right. Dores, Lyond. Things are going to change.”

Lyond looked pleased, and sneered at the mage. “Finally.” he said.

Sebastian gave him a cold hard look, “Indeed. From this day on, there is to be no more bullying of magi. No more scare tactics and fear. We are going to make the Starkhaven Circle a safe place, that they will not wish to go anywhere else.”

Lyond, confused, decided he must have misheard, and muttered, ignoring the mage beside him, “But… I thought…. Why not make ‘em tranquil m’lord? Then they’ll not wish to do anything but serve…”

Sebastian slammed a hand on the table in front of him, so hard it stung. “No! No more! When you control and constrict, you give the apostates cause for living outside the Maker’s light. Instead, Templar will _watch_ over the mages, not subjugate, and I will watch the Templar. The mages will be safe, and treated with respect.”

Lyond’s face turned dark, “You will reward what happened in Kirkwall, if you coddle them.” He warned.

“I will treat them like people, so that they do not become monsters.”

Dores, her own mouth open, looked at Sebastian, as if suspected this was some grand trick, some way to catch her out. She took in Sebastian’s eyes, fixed upon Lyond and saw the Templar’s growing discomfort, as he quickly gathered that things were not going to go as he had hoped. He twisted, pointing at the mage.

“They don’t deserve kindness…”

“No, they do not deserve you. Lyond, you are dismissed, of rank and title. You will be given one week’s pay, and then a small stipend of lyrium each week.”

“What!? Why?”

Sebastian spoke low, his voice finally able to unleash the disgust he had for the man, “I have heard the stories, and listened to confessions Ser Lyond. I spoke to your fellows, and to the sisters and brothers of the chantry I could convince to speak out against you. You rule by fear, and the Templar follow your poor example. They see the mages as little more than animals, and laugh at their pain, and do not see how very wrong that is. Over the past months, you have used this city to hide behind, thinking you were out of the sight of the chantry and the Maker, but I see you. I see someone who would send away the chantry brothers and sister, so they could not witness your depravity. You had the chance, all you had to do was be a Templar proper, follow the chant of light and let it guide you, but instead you allowed your darker urges to rule over you, and the mages who you were _supposed_ to protect. Get out of here, you sorry excuse for a man, never mind one of the Maker’s warriors.”

“You can’t dismiss me!”

“I think you’ll find I can. You yourself granted the power to me. I can ‘do whatever it takes to put an end to the mage threat.’ And you, Lyond, are part of the reason mages are so afraid, so angry that they would strike out against the Maker’s house. Take away that fear, give no cause for such anger, and the threat is no more.”

Lyond rose, swiftly, and one heavy gauntleted hand came round in an arch, aiming for Sebastian’s head. Sebastian did not move, and Fenris came forward, blocking the blow with ease, Lyond’s chair having been set out so his right hand had no room to throw a punch, the Templar too predictable in his rage.

“Are you quite finished?” Sebastian asked, adding a dismissive note to his voice. 

Lyond looked at him, and then the shining blue elf, who he’d heard could rip a man’s heart out through his chest, and decided not to test whether the stories were true. He left, escorted out by Fenris, and Sebastian leaned in to Dores, who was finally starting to lose the frightened stiffness to her stance.

“I know it has been a couple of difficult days, but I had to keep up the pretence that I would be hard on the mages. I can only imagine the stress that put you and your fellows under, and so I offer my utmost apologises.”

“This is real, not a fade dream… Yeh really are going to do all yeh say… but the rope, the iron rods… all the talk of ‘dealing with the mage threat’…”

Sebastian smiled, but it was not the cruel twist that Lyond had worn, rather a gentle soft curl of lips, matched by gentle and soft eyes, that held just the glint of mischief. “Technically, yes, I did say such things. But you’ll find, my lady, that I spoke not one word of a lie. Should all mages be happy, and safe, then I cannot see why we could consider them a threat. However… the townspeople are frightened, and would not have agreed so readily if I announced my plans from the start. I had to seem harsh, but I assure you no harm will come to you and yours. I have removed Lyond from office, and hopefully now that we have cut the head of the snake, the rest of the wickedness will wither and die, but are there any others who you feel are a danger to the mages?”

Dores shook her head, long brown hair flicking out around her face, “There’s another two I’d not like to be left alone in the same room as, Issacs and Leston, but Lyond, he was the worst. Didn’t let Mallison heal up his own leg, even when he swore he’d not need to use magic, and bound his hands with bandages he could’ve used upon his leg. He’d get close, too close, and not move away, and stare. Like he was huntin’, waitin’. I think yeh might have come just in time…”

Sebastian breathed heavy, and shook his head that a man who claimed to follow the chantry could have fallen so far.

“This Issacs and Leston, we will give them a chance at redemption, but I will watch them carefully, and if you see, hear or even suspect anything, please let me know. No-one should have to live in fear, nor locked away like a prisoner without committing any crime.

“Then, mi’laird, why are we in a dungeon?” Dores spoke, braver now, and gestured at the surrounding walls with distaste.

“Look about you. What do you see?” Sebastian’s voice was warm, and he delighted that Dores felt confident enough to speak her mind.

“Walls, stone walls, thick and cold. A prison.”

“I see stone, same as you, but solid and safe. There is no safer place for you right now, till we can work to allay the fear of the people. Its temporary, till the circle is built and the city ready to accept that mages have a place in Starkhaven, and I think you’d be hard pressed to find a more secure place.”

Sebastian gave a little smile, and tapped the nearest wall with his knuckle. “Plus… all this stone ought to work well to contain stray magic spells, I should think.”

“Wait… yeh _want_ us tae use magic?”

“Exactly. There are two things that will lead a man to ruin, mages included, one is anger, and we’ve already discussed how to start undoing the damage people like Lyond have caused. The second is ignorance. Let us train the magi, so that the gifts the Maker granted you can be put to good use. The rods for example, could they be heated up with fire magic, so they can be forged without furnace? If we can do that, I think blacksmiths might be appreciative of a blaze controlled to such degree, it’ll surely help their craft. The meat, if you freeze it, will keep longer, and there will be less waste and more profit for the framers and traders.”

“An’ the rope?” 

“That may or may not work, but I thought if we weaved metal through the rope, an electrical bolt would carry the length of it. Hard to scale a wall, if there is a line of sparks along the edge… If we can find use for magic, find a way for it to serve, the people will surely see that there is benefit to having mages around. What talents do the mages here have?”

“We’ve a pair of healers, two who specialise in fire and myself who works with ice, one force, an’ two entropy mages.”

“That’s only eight. I was told there are nine mages.”

Dores grimaced, “There’s Mags, she doesn’t dae much magic. She’s addicted heavily to lyrium, and is a bit touched in the hed, if yeh know what ah mean…”

Sebastian hmm’d thoughtfully. Before he could enquire further, there was a knock, as Fenris returned, letting himself in and looking to Sebastian urgently.

“Lyond kicked up a bit of a fuss as he left; the other Templar want to know what’s going on.”

Sebastian got up, and gave Dores a little bow of his head, “My lady, I shall have to go and deal with this. Excuse me please.”

She gave the smallest of nods, still recovering from the intense relief that this Sebastian was not the madman she’d feared, and watched as Sebastian and Fenris went out, gathering the Templar and rousing those who were off shift and sleeping.

“Templar; the Maker’s warriors.” Sebastian began, looking over the men, some nineteen strong and each armoured and armed. “The work you do is hard, and at times even dangerous, and I have utmost respect for each and every one of you. However, I fear that the task has hardened your hearts, and blinded you to the light of the Maker. No-where in the chant of light, or the teachings, is cruelty and terror suggested as a suitable means to treat your fellow man, elf or dwarf, mage or no. The Templar should not have to risk their souls, not any more. Lyond has been dismissed, for straying from the path of the Maker.   
“You are the Maker’s warriors, and it is high time the Templar started acting like it. I have seen the paranoia that all mages are out to corrupt consume Templar, and drive them to foul and filthy deeds. I have seen abuse, and I have seen the path that such acts lead to.   
“This will not, no, can not be permitted to continue. There will be no more fear, no more use of undue force against the mages. Any man, who feels he cannot behave in a manner befitting the title of Templar, ought to leave now, because I will not tolerate evil in the Maker’s ranks.”

There was a shuffling, and a great deal of looking back and forth, trying to process the sudden change of command. Sebastian stood, hard and steady, Fenris at his side. When no-one moved for the door, he softened his eyes.

“Serving the chantry is a noble endeavour, and I cannot imagine any of you became Templar just so that you could terrorise mages and make their lives miserable. Lyond and his like have managed to subvert what the Templar order are supposed to stand, but I for one will not allow that to continue. Let us make the name Templar represent something good again.”

He went on to talk about how a mage repressed and scared would eventually be forced to fight back, but a magic user content would have no reason to strike out against Templar. That if they worked together, mages and Templar, they’d be stronger for it, and the new Starkhaven circle would be sure to succeed. 

There was slow acceptance, as the majority of Templar found themselves agreeing. No-one cheered outright, Sebastian was still too much of an unknown factor, but the archer hoped that in time, the Templar might see the sense of his plan, that if the mages were happy, they’d not be a danger. That they could guard the mages, without having to be hated for it.

That when the Templar-mage war came to Starkhaven, neither side would have to suffer, nor would the city of Starkhaven.

Sebastian then approached the mages, and gave a similar speech, that surely it would be better for the mages not to have to fight the Templar at every step, that they could work towards the same goals. They had more reason to distrust him, but Dores stood forward, and said that they did not have much to lose by trying Sebastian’s new way. 

Granted at least the chance to change things, Sebastian brought the Templar and mages together, and explained the next stage of his plan, talking long into the night, welcoming and answering questions. 

Once finished, there were smiles, and hopeful whispers, and Sebastian felt his heart lift, the dark weight of Anders’s actions and the hate and rage it had caused dissipate. 

He had felt his own anger wrap around himself, at in the height of his madness, knew that in his darkest moments, there was no depth he’d not have sunk to punish the mage. It was that anger, that burned at his rationale, ate at his soul, that had made him see that anyone, mage or otherwise, could be twisted into something wicked. He had resolved to address his own anger, defeat it, and then work to see that no mage was pushed to such actions as the Abomination had seen fit to inflict upon Kirkwall.

The back rooms of the dungeons, lined by stone and rock, were designated the ‘test chambers’. They were cleared of all bedding and furniture, and the iron rods lined against the wall. It did not take long to have spare blankets hung over the door to the cells, to afford both Templar and mage some privacy, something Sebastian and Fenris could well understand the longing and need for. Each mage was given a cell to themselves, or the offer to share if they preferred. Templar too, were each granted a room, for taking their rest and breaks in. The dungeons were large enough each person could have a room, and there were still plenty left over. Fenris, still annoyed that he had been moved to the servants quarters, asked both mages and Templar if they did not mind if he took one of the spare cells. No-one did, and so the elf told Sebastian that he would keep eye over things, if the archer wanted to get some much deserved sleep. 

He did not know how much time passed, down in the dungeons, but when everything was finally set up, Sebastian made his way to his separate room, coming out from the castle to a bright new dawn.

****

After sleep, Sebastian returned to the dungeons, and was glad to see the fragile truce had held, and that the Templar had not reverted back to what they had been taught and trained in over the last months. Fenris was there, talking with a couple of Templars of how they would try and find apostates and bring them to the circle (once it was completed), rather than let them be at risk of hanging.

Sebastian breathed an inward sigh of relief. He’d been frightened for Fenris, but the elf had insisted while they made the preparations to remove Lyond from officer that _someone_ needed to be present in the dungeons, to keep things on track. Sebastian needed to be alert; he would have to handle the councils when they heard what was going on in the depths of the dungeons, which left Fenris to quietly observe to make sure the Templars or mages did not revolt, or murder each other. In honesty, Fenris was perfect for the job, quiet, intimidating but not quick tempered, and Sebastian had seen him shrug off magical blasts of energy with ease, and then keep fighting. That he wore a moonstone amulet under his armour, and a belt that also offered some modest amount of magical resistance, meant that Sebastian could trust that Fenris would be safe, even if he was surrounded by highly strung mages and leaderless Templar. 

It had not made for a partially easy night’s sleep however, Sebastian’s thoughts first painting a terrible picture of a battle breaking out down in the dungeons, the stone shrouding the sound so it would be over before he was able to realise, and run down the steps to find strewn bodies filling the cells, Fenris either dead or dying because of an oversight in his plan. Then, when Sebastian had carefully reminded himself that Fenris was a warrior without equal, his mind moved on to Fenris talking with the Templar, and being drawn into agreeing that Sebastian’s plan was folly. That it would be best now, to put the mages down while they were unsuspecting. That Sebastian would return to a bloodbath, Fenris’s sword slick with the blood of magi. And smiling.

It had been harder to rationalise away that particular fear, and in the end Sebastian had taken a glass of fortified wine, and placed his faith in Fenris and the Maker that catastrophe would not occur while he rested. 

It seemed like he had been rewarded, Fenris deep in discussion supporting the plan, and the Templar seeming to agree and understand. 

“You’re all aglow wi’ lyrium… Can you use that to sense a mage?” one Templar asked.

“I... have not tried.”

“Should be possible, lyrium links to the fade, and fade links to magic…”

And so, urged on by the Templar, Fenris started to learn to ‘sense’ the difference between a Templar and a mage. Though he had to activate his brands, and touch the person he was testing, he found that even when he closed his eyes, he could make a guess at who was a mage. He still grit his teeth when laying his hand upon a mage, but once blindfolded, he attended the task, and was distracted enough by trying to feel for a fade connection that he forgot to look so disgusted. Soon, he was getting it right more than wrong.

While Fenris was experimenting with his abilities, a few mages came forward to the testing chambers to practice heating the metal up to workable temperatures, irons rods at first, but with a view to working the metal of a sword eventually. A couple of Templar watched, ready to dispel the magics if at any point it looked dangerous. 

Sebastian watched, interested, as the mages grew bolder, both knowing that they’d not be punished for working their craft, and that their spells could not rage beyond their control. He’d seen the might of magic on the battlefield, but had often wondered if a mage could not turn their hand to something more passive, such as helping farmers, or blacksmiths. The practical applications were staggering, if he could convince the populace to allow the mages to aid them. It would take time, both for the people to see the benefits, and the mages able to work their magics with the skill and control required not to put themselves or anyone else in danger.

The pair of entropy mages however, posed a problem and a puzzle. No matter how hard he tried, Sebastian could not find a useful application for the life-draining nightmare invoking powers they were practiced in. He was sat at the desk, head in his hands, when Fenris entered.

“Something wrong?” Fenris strained to sound less concerned than he did, and Sebastian shook his head as if to say Fenris need not to rush to the rescue, that it was a small matter.

“It’s the entropy mages, I cannot fathom what they could do to make themselves of use.”

“Pests.”

Sebastian was about to chastise Fenris for such language when they were trying to get Starkhaven to see the mages as more than a worrisome nuisance, when he saw Fenris was not scowling, brows neither furrowed into a frown. Sebastian sat back in the chair, and waited for Fenris to explain.

“Pests, like rats and mice and the like. Do you remember, in Kirkwall, we took up a chantry board request, how long it took us to clear that cellar of rats? They were small, but so many of them, and too quick for your arrows and my sword. I think a burst of entropy magic might do the job a great deal faster, but you’d have to clear out the bodies or they’ll sit and rot.”

Sebastian curled his lips, pleasantly surprised at Fenris’s notion. That he was able not only to solve the problem of the entropy magi, but that he was contributing towards the cause, was something of a minor miracle. 

Fenris had not been happy, that Sebastian planned to go to Starkhaven and work with the mages, but Sebastian had been very convincing, laying each of his arguments down with confidence and faith. The elf had had to agree, that the current system was flawed, and failing. He’d been more of a mind to kill all mages as a solution, but Sebastian had vehemently argued against such actions, saying that if they were to start putting mages to death, it would only make those left go to ground, and fuel the hate, and they’d both seen the damage a single angry apostate had caused. 

The lyrium warrior still had his doubts, but was at least willing to give Sebastian a chance, trusting the archer. The mages of Starkhaven would not be allowed to become magisters. Sebastian had explained that he planned to integrate mages with the city, that they’d not be apart, think themselves different, above the rest. A mage may be able to conjure fire from nothing, but he or she could not build a chair, or manage a field. Each person had their own skills, and place, and through finding where the mages could fit into that, would ensure that magic would serve man, and not rule over him. 

That he had managed to convince Fenris, who had suffered more at the hands of magic than any other he knew, gave Sebastian hope that Starkhaven could be coaxed into likewise setting aside their prejudices and fears.

Things were going well, and though he could see the mages watch the Templars, as if ready for the moment of betrayal, while the Templar did the exact same back, both sides were making the effort to work in unison. It would take time, before trust grew, but Sebastian was encouraged that they had been willing to _try_. 

Watching his plan come together, and Fenris able to speak to a mage without declaring them an abomination (hard to do that, when they had both met and known true abominations), Sebastian settled, and turned his mind to trying to get Ackles to actually follow though and supply the house. He was about to go and pester the man, questioning the delay, when he was called before the council, and asked why Lyond had been dismissed. 

He gave a report, that he’d written with Dores and Ron’s help, as well as information he’d received when talking to the brothers and sisters of the chantry, listing Lyond crimes against the mages, such as breaking limbs and not allowing them to be healed or even treated, depriving the mages in his care of food, water and sleep when the mood took him, and generally being a horrible human being.

“He was tainting the Templar order, and I could not allow such behaviours to continue. Fear not, for I have elected a new Templar head.”

Ron had tried to refuse, but Sebastian pointed out that the young Templar had at least voiced his concerns, and that such morals were needed, if they were going to remake the Templar. Dores, who spoke up frequently now, had said that she thought Ron would be an excellent head Templar, and reluctantly, Ron had accepted the position.

The councillors were not impressed.

Ackles however, thinking that Sebastian was well on the way to falling out of favour, shrugged.

“If young Sebastian wants to let such an inexperienced man led the one thing keeping the mages from running amok, I am sure he has his reasons…”

Sebastian had told Fenris that Ackles would seek to destroy him, and here, was the fruition of that. Ackles did not believe Sebastian would actually be able to pull off his grand plan, and that by granting him the power to make such mistakes, he’d hasten the prince’s downfall. 

Yegor, after looking to Ackles and trusting that the coffer councillor knew what he was doing, nodded that Sebastian could indeed do what he liked with the Templar, but warned; “One season.”

Sebastian bowed low, and excused himself, deciding that if one season was all he had, he’d best not dally.

****

While Ackles might not have been interfering with the mages or Templar (who, between them, had perfected the art of freezing meat and were now working on trying to chill fruit and vegetables without reducing the foodstuffs to mush when it thawed), he seemed intend to fuss over every single detail, and delay the purchase of the house. 

It had been a week, and though Fenris and Sebastian spent their days together in the dungeons, the distance remained, neither of them willing to reveal their relationship in front of so many, nor risk the delicate balance of respect and trust they had started to collect.

It was started to wear, being so close but yet so far, and Fenris had snapped angrily on more than one occasion. He’d apologised, elegantly and at length afterwards, but Sebastian could tell that the strain was getting to him, fracturing his veneer of strength.

So Sebastian went to the tavern.

***

He came back to the castle at a near run, and sent for a page to take a verbal message to the servant’s quarters and find Fenris immediately. Another was sent, with all speed, to the quartermaster, requesting an extra bedroll.

Fenris arrived in full armour, shortly after the bedding, and looked at Sebastian, who was standing out in the corridor, hand on his dagger, eyes sharp and focused. He paused midway through scanning the surrounding space, and gave Fenris a nod, no smile.

“There is a rumour going around town…. that some group of people who think all mages should be put to the blade are working to stop us. Word is, they have sent an assassin. It would be remiss of me to not take measures to protect the both of us.”

Fenris’s eyes widened, then he caught the way Sebastian rested his hand on the dagger. Now that he was close, he could see that the fingers were relaxed, and would be slow to pull the dagger into a fighting stance. He looked to Sebastian, and the open door to his room, and frowned, unsure of how Sebastian could be so calm in the face of such threat against him.

As Sebastian closed the door, the archer let his smile show, and Fenris blinked. He was about to ask what Sebastian found so funny about the possibility of death, when it dawned on him that he and Sebastian were finally behind closed doors, with reason to remain so for the rest of the night. The elf crossed his arms, understanding. 

“You, are a very clever man.”

Sebastian gave a shrug, smiling wide. “I might have picked up a few tricks from Varric.”

Fenris tilted his chin at the bedroll, “So there is no assassin, but do you expect me to sleep upon the floor like a mabari?”

“When there is a perfectly serviceable bed? Certainly not.”

“Then what’s that _for_?” 

“Appearances. And…” Sebastian unrolled the thick fabric, and laid it against the door, catching it on one of the more prominent ornamentations on the doorframe. 

“We’ll still have to be mindful of noise, but that should shield some of the sound.” He took a step forwards, heart already pounding a steady beat of want and need through him. One step, then another, then; “It has been tae long.” 

Another step.

“Do yeh think yeh can manage tae be quiet Fenris?”

His recent successes told in his confident cadence, his stride, and Sebastian knew that he was near desperate to feel Fenris’s skin under him. It lent his tongue courage to speak words that he’d have normally bitten back, challenging, teasing, _tempting_. He might have wondered at being quite so dominant, but Fenris reached and laid a hand at the back of his neck, and pulled the prince in for a hard kiss, eyes turning from emerald to obsidian. Sebastian felt a hand rub against his stiffening cock, and startled, as Fenris whispered back; “I have control enough to mind my moans, but the question is; do you?”

A palm, Fenris’s palm, against him, feeling hot and heavy even through the layers of cloth, pushing that little bit harder, that little bit more demandingly, and Sebastian could not help but give a soft grunt. 

Fenris’s eyes gleamed, as he resumed kissing Sebastian, powerful, near bruising kisses, perfect after so much space between them. His lips moved as if Fenris could not get enough of the brush of flesh against flesh, the slide of a tongue deep into his mouth, and the heat, oh Maker, the _heat_.

Seemingly determined to undermine Sebastian’s normally exceptional control, Fenris pressed his lips against Sebastian’s, till they flushed full and open, and Fenris had to stop for breath.

It was like presenting a feast to a starved man, and Sebastian knew he ought to slow, and savour this chance, to make it worth the wait, but his hunger for the elf consumed him, and he kissed back, with teeth and tongue.

He had not (could not) forgotten what it was like to taste the elf from the inside out, but as his tongue ran against Fenris’s, he was reminded the way the muscle flexed, never passive, exploring as much as his own. When not sliding, _dancing_ , Fenris would run it around where their lips met, would steal back and forth, drawing Sebastian deeper, or delving into the archer’s mouth. It made him feel giddy, though he presence of mind enough to note the edge of haste to Fenris’s motions, the grip on the back of his neck tight, tense.

Sebastian would have liked to hold his resolve better, and kiss Fenris hard and long, to make up for the time they’d had to spend apart, but his cock was insistent that without attention, it might rupture.

It was Fenris’s turn to let slip a rumbling exhale, almost a purr, as Sebastian rounded a smooth cheek to find an earlobe, and suck upon it, the press of teeth a promise he’d not hold back, no matter if Ser Ackles himself was at the door listening.

He slipped his tongue into the hard curve of Fenris’s ear, and let his breath roll into the orifice.

“Ah want yeh, an’ Ah might not be able tae hold back much longer.”

“Then _don’t_.”

The whisper went straight to Sebastian’s knees, and he stumbled in place, rocking against Fenris. The elf held him tightly, as if trying to feel the heat of his skin through the clothes, then, when that was not enough, moved a hand under Sebastian’s shirt.

Splayed fingers, pressing into the small of his back, and curled just enough to let Sebastian feel each fingertip, and Sebastian had to agree that skin upon skin was preferable to the barrier the clothes posed. 

It was something of a challenge, to try and get out of his shirt, with Fenris so close, and unwilling to break his hold long enough for Sebastian to manipulate the fabric. He too, did not want to take his hands from smoothing over the muscle hidden in leathers, to let there be so much as a hair’s width between them. The knowledge that if he only could bear to pull himself back, he would get so much more, allowed him to force his hands to release the elf, and quickly undress, feet and hands working in tandem to kick off shoes and drag the shirt over his head. 

The shirt had yet to hit the floor, before Sebastian was back, kissing as if it had been days rather than seconds, his hands pulling at the straps of Fenris’s armour, and dragging across skin. The elf’s hands were arched into claws, and clutched at Sebastian’s exposed back. 

Sebastian could practically smell the need in the air, the thick scent of desire rising from both of them. As if trigger had been pulled, his tongue ran, wild and rapid, speaking a stream of whispered pleas and promises.

“Want yeh, want yeh sae much. Want to be _in_ yeh, deep inside. Fill yeh up, fill yeh to the brim. Please Fenris, Ah want yeh. Need yeh. _Please_.”

While it was unlikely his words would be overheard, Fenris still pressed a finger against Sebastian’s lips, looking at the archer with eyes full and dark.

“Not helping… You need to hush, if I’m going to be able to make it to the bed.”

Sebastian grinned, and opened his mouth just enough to suck upon the finger there, tasting the sweat of the pad, tongue against the ridges. Fenris pulled back, making a pained little noise of desperation, and pushed his armour from him as if it were on fire. One gauntlet, two, and the tight leather trousers stretched over his length fell to the ground, and he looked to the bed, where a sheet was laid out, and oil, in readiness. 

Fenris stopped trying to manage the various clasps of his chest armour, instead walking to the bed and looking over his shoulder, as spine curled and he rested his forearms on the bed. Sebastian was aware of a moan, louder than he’d intended, issue from his mouth, as if pulled from deep within his throat, at the sight of Fenris half undressed, stretched on the side of the bed, presenting himself. 

“Maker’s breath….” He said, awed, as Fenris passed him the oil, the elf’s hardness thick, a tiny drip already escaping the tip.

“Quickly.” Fenris warned, and so Sebastian pressed two oiled fingers against the tight ring, stretching Fenris the bare minimum. Sebastian would have liked to use more fingers, make sure that Fenris would be ready for his cock, but he knew neither of them would last much longer. Fenris’s head bobbed in front, as if agreeing with Sebastian judgement that two brief fingers, would have to be enough.

“Ready?” Sebastian asked as he lined himself up. Fenris made his reply by pushing backwards, letting the tip of Sebastian length touch against the slicked circle of muscles. He gave a low noise, needy, and realised that he’d have to be much quieter if they were not to be discovered. He brought his hand to his mouth, and bit upon the knuckle of his fingers, as Sebastian slowly dipped into the flesh, breath ragged, jaw clenched against letting slip his own gasps and groans of pleasure.

Tightness, soft and slick but so tight, and Sebastian grasped against both of Fenris’s hips, fingers digging almost to the bone, feeling the way Fenris’s body trembled with the intrusion as he slid forward. Muffled noises, as the girth of Sebastian cock stretched him open, and then a sigh, that coursed through Fenris’s body, as finally Sebastian was pressed as far as he could go. He held there, feeling the way Fenris twitched round him, his leather armour shaking with the effort of keeping quiet, his lyrium’d fingers likely to bear toothmarks by the end. 

The way Fenris offered his body so trustingly was beautiful to behold, and the way he would rock backwards, as much as he could, trying to let Sebastian in _deeper_. It felt like there was too much emotion, too much sensation, to be contained within his skin. Sebastian felt frantic, his heart hammering, perfectly held at the edge of control, knowing it was Fenris who could bring him so close to the precipice, and then beyond.

He pulled back, and he could feel Fenris’s entrance hold him, grip him, the warmth inside beckoning him to return. When he let his hips snap forward, the sound he made was strained, barely kept in check, and matched by a guttural call from Fenris, though through the teeth and finger it sounded rougher.

Fenris was braced against the mattress, the frame of the bed well made enough it did not give out even the slightest creak, the only sounds in the rooms was the harsh panting of breath, slap of skin on skin, and their voices, each struggling to be silent.

Sebastian thrust, hard, deep, wanting to be in that heat, wanting to be as close to Fenris as possible.   
Melting from the inside out, he was only vaguely aware of the elf bunching handfuls of sheets in his free hand, his cock swaying between his legs, untouched. With a cry that his hand could not contain, Fenris released, his body shuddering, drawing Sebastian further, his own ejaculation heralded by a whimpered sound that his clutched closed throat only just managed to keep from turning into a shout of his lover’s name. 

Fenris twisted till he was on his side, reaching and pulled Sebastian down to join him, unable to do more than breathe and hope that the archer could see the satisfaction in the hooded eyes and curve of his lips.

“Right.” Sebastian said, voice clear, determined, as he wrapped round Fenris, holding him tight, “I do not want to wait to be able to do that again. Tomorrow, we are moving in.”

****

Sebastian could talk to Ackles till he turned grey, and it would not have sped up the process of the councillor buying the property, so he went directly to the current owner.

“I should like to move in. Today.”

"Ser Ackles told me.. that it was unsuitable for a prince. We still have to redo the floors, and the drapes were apparently the wrong colour, and the fireplace is cast iron, and not marble… It’ll take another week before the dwarves have carved out from the marble, and another again to fit it.”

Sebastian raised a brow, and crossed his arms. He’d left Fenris sleeping, and had to rely on his own abilities to look unimpressed, and while he could never hope to match that solid green glare, he knew that the title of near-enough prince allowed him some scope to get what he wanted.

“I should like to move in today. Which means,” he added, seeing the flustered man open his mouth to object, “that you can start to charge Ackles from this moment on. No doubt he has asked you to make all these unnecessary changes without actually producing the coin beforehand. Well, now he has to give you your payment, and to the void with the colour of the drapes.”

“Mi’lord…?”

“It is fine. You’ve done everything he asked of you, and you can tell him I am muchly pleased. So much so that I wish to waste no more time before I can call it home.”

The man looked Sebastian over, then broke out into a wide grin, clapping his hands. “As you wish. Here are the keys.”

As Sebastian’s hand closed around the metal, he wished Fenris could be there, that he and the elf could walk into their new home together. It would not be acceptable, to have Fenris with him… although… 

Struck by an idea, Sebastian smiled all the way back to the castle.

***

No-one batted an eye, when they saw Sebastian and Fenris approach the house, and make their way inside, not with Fenris carrying a large canvas sack, same as Sebastian’s. If anyone noticed how Sebastian had to place his upon the ground in order to get the key out, then motion for Fenris to likewise let the weight drop as he fumbled and searched at length for the missing item, finally producing it with a flourish and opening the door, they’d have found the sequence of events normal, bordering on mundane. 

Fenris went inside, and Sebastian dragged the two bags containing all they had managed to save from Kirkwall over the threshold of the door, to meet in the hall. Even though Fenris would have happily helped, Sebastian felt it important that the charade of being a servant stopped at the door, and was not permitted entry into this, their sanctuary, their home.

He lifted his head from pulling bags of armour and weapons and clothes inside, and then shut the door, and saw Fenris come towards him. Lyrium’d fingers cupped round his face, and lips met his. The desperation was gone from the touch, and though pleasant, Sebastian did not feel the need to take the kiss deeper, further. It was nice to simply _feel_ , Fenris’s lips warm, soft, and smiling.

Fenris pulled away, still so close every breath felt heated against his cheeks, and Sebastian looked to him, taking in the serene green of his eyes, and marvelling in their beauty. 

“Welcome home.”

*****

He was in front of the council. Again. Fenris took up his now standard position by the door, sword sheaved. He turned so it looked like he was watching the door, occasional twisting to scan the high windows, but Sebastian knew he was listening to every word. 

They were in the private back rooms, of which Sebastian was growing familiar, but since he could well guess what he’d been called up for _this_ time, he was glad the public gallery was not present.

Sebastian noted that the councillors had their own seats, Blair and Ackles either side of Goren, Kolin at Blair’s left, Yegor at Ackles’s right. He thought he might be imagining it, but Yegor and Ackles had seemed to shuffle their chairs closer to one another, and fractionally further from Goren. He wondered what that meant, and decided he really did not relish the thought of Ackles and Yegor colluding.

“I am sorry to hear you did not find the castle accommodation generously given to you enough to your liking…?” Yegor’s voice was bitter, and he gave a nod to Ackles, who looked as if he had a mouth full of rotten turnip. It suggested that he’d had to finally give over the coin promised for the house, and was none too happy about being forced into payment.

Sebastian gave a small bow. “The room provided was without fault, but surely you have heard that there is the possibility of an assassin after me. I could not risk bringing the blade into the castle, not for my sake. Myself and my bodyguard have set up in the house Ackles has bought, and I think we should be able to defend ourselves better from there, without endangering any of you.”

Ackles bristled at the mention of buying, but said nothing, while Yegor scowled that his words had yet again been turned against him. All the councillors did not seemed surprised at the mention of an assassin, but Goren’s mouth dropped open. Sebastian felt vaguely sorry, that the ruler of Starkhaven was kept so ignorant of the proceedings of the city.

“Would you like a guard posted, if you feel your life is in danger?” Blair asked, and Sebastian honestly could not tell if the offer was sincere, or merely a way to get a sword and pair of eyes closer to Sebastian. 

“I will not take the city’s defences away from their duties. The patrols already in place ought to be sufficient. Besides, I have faith in Fenris’s and mine own abilities to dispatch anyone stupid enough to try and harm me.” A thinly veiled threat, that Yegor missed but Ackles’s eyes widened at. Sebastian made note to get the locked changed… just in case Ackles arranged to have a second set of keys cut.

Blair looked to Fenris, and took in the easy way the elf stood, all strength. The elf certainly gave the appearance of being able to see off an assassin, and Sebastian could tell by the way Blair cast his eyes over the prince, that the commander of the guard had started to suspect the archer was not altogether defenceless without his quiver either. He tapped his chin. “Fair enough.”

Yegor’s twisted his head, so sudden it looked like he was trying to snap his own neck, as he glared at Blair for conceding to Sebastian. He gave a short grunt, and gestured towards Kolin.

“Anyway,” he said, “that’s not why we called you here Sebastian. Care to explain this?”

Kolin coughed, and pulled a sheet out from behind him. It was a familiar sheet, it was Sebastian’s plans for the circle. He laid it down on the table, and drew Goren’s attention to the words written there. Goren followed the bony finger, then frowned, then looked up at Sebastian.

“You want your circle _inside_ Starkhaven’s walls?”

Sebastian nodded, “Yes. Starkhaven’s walls are strong, and high, and guarded. We ought to make use of that. A mage would have a beast of a time trying to scale them, even with ropes and a moonless night. It ought to deter attempts at escape. Not that I am expecting any escapes, but it is good to be prepared.” 

Not to mention, that it would be just as hard for someone to break _in_. Sebastian knew his mages were at risk still, and would rest easier knowing they had the best defences Starkhaven could offer. 

“That seems… reasonable.” Goren started, but was then drawn to a different line of the parchment. He furrowed his brow, “Says here, you want houses. Lots and lots of little houses for the magi. Not a more traditional tower?”

Sebastian, who was still standing, clasped his hands. “Houses. Yes. There are a couple of reasons. Firstly, you’ll recall that the old circle burned down. From the accounts, the fires spread quickly from the inside, sheltered from the wind and weather, consuming the lower levels, weakening the stone and wood of the base, which caused the top to topple. People, who had managed to survive the blaze, were crushed under the falling stone. I would learn the lesson here, and have a collection of houses, so that should a fire break out, it would take much longer to spread, and be more accessible to put out again.”

“But why houses? Dormitories would surely be more suitable.”

Sebastian tipped his head, “Harder for them to formulate plots if they each have their own space…”

Yegor stood, when he saw that Goren’s frown had eased, and he was nodding along to Sebastian’s explanations. “The people of Starkhaven will be outraged if you grant these mages houses, they’ll see the mages as getting special treatment.”

“I thought houses might actually help with that, they would be small, unassuming. No great tower looking down upon the townsfolk, no great eyesore dominating over the cityscape.”

Goren looked to his council, then at Sebastian, and then at the paper. “It’s your coin… and you do seem to have everything thought out. Permission granted, the builders can start work immediately.”

Yegor and Ackles might have protested, but Goren had made his mind up, and the councillors decided not to argue with the lord ruler. Sebastian breathed quietly to himself, and asked if there was anything else he was needed for. Ackles, with a look in his eye that told Sebastian this was not over, shook his head, fresh out of attacks against the archer.

Sebastian, after giving a low bow to the court council, made his exit.

****

The next day, to move things forward, he, Fenris three Templar and Dores went to the markets. He needed to get the townsfolk and mages together, to start showing them the potential of magic.

Normally, a healer would have been the perfect example of the good that magic was capable of, but Anders had managed to taint that particular branch of sorcery. The fire mages produced blazes that, though controlled, would do little to reassure the people of Starkhaven that mages were nothing to fear. The entropy mages were likewise unsuitable, though Sebastian hoped he’d be able to use Fenris’s notion of having them control the pests that infested grain stores soon as possible, to preserve as much of the harvest before winter took hold.

Dores, upon a Templar’s advice, had stopped trying to freeze fruit and vegetables directly, as this seemed to damage the products, but instead would turn a barrel of water to ice, which seemed to cool the surround air enough to keep the fruit fresh for much longer. Meat seemed to take the magic better directly, and the dungeons were now well stocked with a variety of foodstuffs, all perfectly fresh. The only problem is that after so long not using her magic, her mana reserves were low, and slow to recuperate. She was getting better with each day, and tired less easily, but Sebastian was mindful that she had her limits, and did not want to push her to them.

The mage was nervous, the Templar wary, and Sebastian himself on edge. His plan, and the fate of the mages of Starkhaven, hung in the balance, and he hoped he could trust that things would not turn nasty. Or bloody.

He was not taking Dores into the situation blind, that much he could promise. Sebastian had found a tavern he liked, and had sat over the course of several evenings, people surrounding him, offering to buy drinks, listening intently to hear what on Thedas was going on in the dungeons.

The supplies of rods and meat kept being delivered to the dungeons but the rods occasionally suffered in the intense flame, and twisted and melted. These, Sebastian had arranged to return to the iron mongers and blacksmiths, in case they could salvage the contorted lumps of metal, but in doing so had sparked more questions as to what the testing chambers were, and what was happening to the mages and why the Templar would not talk about it.

Part of Sebastian was grateful the Templar men had been able to keep quiet, understanding that the task before them all needed to be handled carefully. Moreso, he saw that there was a glimmer of concern for the mages, or perhaps the Templar’s morality, shown in the worried eyes of some of the people, when they asked him what was happening, down in the dungeons out of sight. That the townsfolk could express some form of compassion boded well, that the fear of mages and what they could do did not exclude them from deserving of mercy.

So, Dores in her best robes, staff in hand, and enough Templar to make the people feel a little more secure, they headed to the docks.

They had timed it well, the markets were busy, but not crowded, the majority of people already been and bought what they needed early in the day. People stared at the procession, led by Sebastian, and stopped what they were doing, as Sebastian found a fish merchant, and flashed his most winning smile.

“’lo. Good haul?”

“Aye….” The man watched Dores, and flicked his eyes back and forth, wondering why the prince of Starkhaven was at his stall.

“Yes, a good variety. A shame then, that you’ll not be able to shift them all by the end of the day. There is too many, and the sun too high… seems a terrible waste.”

“…. Aye… yeh lookin’ to buy? I know yeh normally buy near rotten meat, but my fish is good, see?”

“I do see… a fine catch indeed. How’d you like if I could keep them from suffering in the heat of the day, so that you could sell them tomorrow, fresh as they are now. The local cats will be disappointed at not getting your leavings, but then, you don’t go out on your boat for their sake, do you?”

The man, beard greying at the edges of his chin, looked at Sebastian, then to the mage.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Dores here will freeze some water around your fish, putting them on ice. It’ll be like a cool room, but out here in the market place. Ought to keep the fish fresh, and less pungent.”

“A mage… working magic near _my_ fish. Nae thanks!”

“Wait up! You say it’ll help with the stink?” A woman who’d been listening from one side of the fish stall moved round, and rounded on the fisherman.

“I go home each day, reeking from your bleedin’ fish. You should gi’ it a go, if only for sake of my nose!”

The fisherman gave the woman a hard look, then turned to Sebastian. “Well… I gotta listen to the wife, or I’ll no hear the end of it… On yeh go.”

If Dores was at all put off by the heads turned to watch her, she hid it well, as she spoke strange words and gestured with her staff in the direction of the fish. The air shimmered, and ice crystals began to form along the sides of the crates, frosting the fish. People moved away, when they saw the magic at work, but their curiosity, and the presence of the Templar kept them from running.

Once done, Dores passed her staff to a Templar, and rubbed her hands together, the fingers chilled.  
“It’ll work better, last longer, if there was water underneath… like a bucket.” She told Sebastian. The archer opened his hands, addressing the crowd.

“A bucket of water for the lady please?”

Soon enough, a bucket was produced, and Dores froze that too, and placed it under the fish, ignoring the look of distrust the fisherman had fixed upon her. 

“Now, I should like to buy some.” Sebastian said, pointing to a couple of medium-sized fish. The fisherman gingerly touched them, as if worried they might spring to life, and placed them in a bag, handing them over and taking the coin Sebastian passed him.

“Yeh could’ve had them before the mage done tainted them.” He muttered, obviously fearing that the magical frost would deter his customers.

“No… I’d prefer to have my goods as fresh as possible. They’ll keep till I get them home this way, even if I were to tour the markets till closing. I might even go for a drink, and the fish will be just as good.”

That got people’s attention, that there would be no need to rush, that a sly drink on the way home would not cause the fish to swelter and spoil. Sebastian gave the fisherman a little nod of his head, and then as if to prove his point, took Dores, the Templar and Fenris to the tavern.

“They’re staring.” Dores whispered under her breath, as the Templar shifted under the scrutiny of so many eyes on their little table. Fenris was drinking a small tankard of dark ale, Dores and the Templars watered down wine, Sebastian joining them in a diluted glass of red. He was aware the tavern was unnaturally quiet. The fact that the prince had chosen this particular venue had boosted the tavern’s popularity, but now the sight of a mage inside, drinking, had the various patrons huddled in a hush the other side of the pub.

“Bear with it.” Sebastian advised, everything in his posture exuding calmness. They finished their drinks, and left, Dores markedly relieved to be leaving.

“It was a little unpleasant, but the next time will be better. Nothing happened, and that will reassure the people that a mage can walk in and out of a building without anything exploding. 

“Does that mean we have to do that again…?” one of the Templar moaned, his strength sagging after having to be on such high alert for so long, and hardly able to enjoy the tavern’s less than welcoming atmosphere.

“Yes.” Sebastian said sternly, “Till people get used to the sight of magi and Templar, we shall have to persevere. Have faith, the people of Starkhaven are unlikely to stay so silent for long…” he gave a board smile, and one of the other Templar frowned. 

“What’s to say they’ll not turn violent?”

“We will give them no reason to.” Sebastian turned, to Dores. “Are you able to come to markets again tomorrow?”

“Aye, as long as I have the Templar to watch over me.”

Sebastian caught the brief look of surprise the Templar let touch their faces, that a mage requested for them to be there, that they were viewed as the guards they were supposed to be. They quickly agreed that they’d be happy to accompany the mage, and Sebastian arranged for them to meet the next day.

***

Word had spread, and a crowd had gather before Sebastian could get to the fisherman’s stall with Dores, There was a tension held in the air, till the fisherman from before had declared his fish from the day before to be fresh still. He told Sebastian he would be more than willing to have the mage perform the magics again.

“Why don’t you ask her…?” 

It took a moment for the man to find his courage, but he looked at Dores, keeping distance but also keeping eye contact, “Would yeh please freeze ma wares… Ah’ll even give yeh some to take away with yeh for the favour.”

Dores looked to Sebastian, who gestured it was her choice, and she agreed. The gathered peoples seemed almost disappointed that the magic was exactly the same as before, not flare of light or out of control demons, and some even turned to continue their shopping as the mage worked.

Once she was finished, a dairy farmer asked if the mage couldn’t work the same magic on _his_ stall. She smiled brightly, and applied her arts, and, the man followed the fisherman’s example, gave some of his produce to Dores in thanks. Soon, the mage had a bottle of milk, and fish, and a look of pleasant surprise on her face.

Other stall owners came forward, requesting Dores’s assistance, and Sebastian, carefully and politely, pointed out that Dores did not have limitless reserves of power. He wondered if it would not be a better use of her gift to freeze barrels, one between each stall, so as many as possible benefited. Many stalls agreed, and, then, as arrangements were made for this to become a regular occurrence and barrels of water to be provided, the subject of coin was brought up.

“Three copper per stall.” Sebastian said, having already planned for this, “Two to go to the circle funds, and one for Dores.”

Dores had looked up from where she was carefully tipping some water into the drain so that the ice would not overflow as it froze, startled. “Mi’laird…?” Mages did not earn coin, as a rule they were expected to work their magics and be grateful for the privilege of wearing themselves out on request.

“Why not? You have surely earned it.”

People were frowning, unsure of the idea of a mage collecting coin. Sebastian ignored them, focused solely on Dores.

“What... what would Ah spend it on..?”

“Anything you like… for example, there is a whole marketplace here.”

Frowns quickly dissolved, as the stall holders realised that the coin given to the mage would likely return, that Dores would be a _customer_.

Sebastian smiled, if there was one way to get the people of Starkhaven on his side, it was to appeal to their pockets and purses. 

Sure enough, in the space of a week, Dores started to become a regular face in the markets, freezing the barrels and then often stopping for a rest at one of the tea rooms, her coin as good as anyone else’s. Stall holders reported more profits, many times more than what they paid for the mage’s services, and soon, other merchants, for whom coldness had little effect on their wares, the weapon smiths and bakers, started to take notice, jealous of the boon the farmers were receiving.

It was bright morning, winter’s chill starting to become noticeable, though Dores definitely had a hand in making the air that much cooler, when Sebastian was out watching, from a distance, now he was satisfied no one would try and attack Dores for simply being a mage. There were two Templar now, and the people seemed to accept the decreased number, though he hoped that one day Dores might be able to walk the marketplace unescorted. He was watching as a small child looked at what Dores was doing, the parent making no move to pull their son from the mage, when there was a cough from a weapon smith to his side. The board-shouldered man gestured to Dores, and tilted his head at Sebastian. “Say… what else can your mages do…?”

“I am so very glad you asked.” Sebastian said, and started to explain about fire magics used in place of forges, that were costly to fuel and run, and dangerous if not very carefully monitored. The smith agreed that in return for half what he’d pay for fuelling the furnace, he would give one of Sebastian’s fire mages a try. Sebastian was about to turn and fetch either Yon or Johnil the fire mages (and a couple of Templar to ensure the fire was controlled) to send to the smith, when a baker asked if she could have a fire mage to work her ovens. Sebastian tipped his head, saying that ovens needed to burn a lot longer than a forge, and that it would tire a mage out far too much to be workable.. but… how about something to help rid her of rats, and keep her grain free from contamination. 

The baker agreed, with a price set low on the understanding she’d pass on the word should she be happy with the results.

And so, it was not long before there were several mages, each accompanied by Templar, out working magic. The coin they were collecting was stored, though some was spent on a bonus given to the Templar, and a barrel of wine bought to the dungeons to celebrate. The townsfolk were slowly realising that these mages had money, and that if they were polite, the mages would come to their taverns and stalls. Moreover, these mages were _useful_.

Eventually, Sebastian moved the two healers out, letting them sit in the shade of a stall closed for the winter. Though Sebastian could see that at first most of the people who came to them were in so much pain that their fear and trepidation were secondary, it was not long before the healers were working to ease colds, or bruises and sprains.

That left only the force mage Ollarin, and Mags, who Sebastian had discovered had taken to following Fenris when she could, eyes fixated upon the lyrium in his skin. Fenris, normally more than a little taciturn when it came to magi, nevermind magi who _stared_ , seemed oddly tolerant of Mags. Sebastian had enquired, and Dores had explained what they had managed to piece together of Mags’s history. She had been a healer, on the front line of some battle or other. So many were injured she had been forced to take lyrium potions to keep up with the demand. The battle raged for months, and by the end, no longer of use, Mags had been passed on to the Templar to deal with. The after-effects were that she suffered as much as the Templar when lyrium was not provided. That addiction to lyrium, had unfortunately attracted Lyond’s attention, back when he was still head Templar. Lyond, for his amusement, had withheld the lyrium she craved as much as he did, making her follow orders for it, and obey his every word. Soon, what little sanity she’d managed to hold on to was eroded by the lyrium and Loynd’s cruel treatment. 

Shocked, Sebastian had spoken to Mags to see for himself the extent of her suffering, and found that Mags could not speak of her past with any degree of coherence. She’d sit, and answer everything asked in a disjointed little voice, and bore many of the mannerisms of a slave, which accounted for Fenris’s acceptance of her. 

She spent most of her time when not watching Fenris, making wisps of light, which tended to only last a few seconds. She was happy enough, and Sebastian took some comfort in that at least.

Ollarin however, was getting frustrated that her powers seemed of no use, that even the entropy mages were accepted but she seemed to have no place in Sebastian’s new Starkhaven.

Sebastian sat her down, and they discussed what she could do. It seemed all her talents were aggressive, pulling and pushing her targets, or dragging them into a focal point. She could see that these spells did not exactly lend themselves to the impression of mages Sebastian was building, and sighed, pulling her arms into herself.

“You know… I think I know exactly what you can do….” Sebastian said, watching as Ollarin’s face lit up.

It took a bit of practice before she could successful control the amount of force she exerted, but soon, the new circle was progressing much more rapidly, as stone and timber were moved with ease across the building yard, the builders grateful they did not have to lift the heavy materials.

Sebastian watched, as not only his circle, not only the Templars and magi, but his grand plan for Starkhaven, came together.

****

/// It had been a week, before the councillors finally demanded Sebastian attend a private court. He suspected it was no so much that he and his mages were endangering the peoples that had Ackles such a shade of red, and Yegor grinding his teeth, but that he was winning them over that was the crux of the problem.

Goren, who was looking at Sebastian with hard eyes that made the archer wonder what he had been told, watched as Sebastian and Fenris entered, and Sebastian was surprised to see two guards at the door. He was even more glad he’d asked Fenris to join him, despite the elf’s protests that the constant meetings were becoming tedious.

“Sebastian Vael, have you taken leave of your senses? Why are there mages running around my marketplace?”

“They are using their magics to help the people of Starkhaven. They are earning the respect of their fellow man, and they are showing that not all magi need to be feared and locked up. If we give the mages purpose, and appreciation, they will feel like part of Starkhaven, and not some grand inconvenience.”

Sebastian, third son of a king, had been a grand inconvenience himself, and knew that without purpose he’d struggled to make his life have meaning. It wasn’t enough to give the mages somewhere safe, they needed a place to belong also. 

Yegor leaned to Goren, gesturing the guards to draw their weapons, an unpleasant smile stretching his face; “It is as we feared Lord Vael, he has been corrupted by the magi. He has been taken in, deceived. There might even by blood magic at work….”

Sebastian did not move to draw a weapon, instead watch the guards with a calm indifference. Fenris however, did move closer, awaiting the word to bring to hand his sword.

“While I can understand why you might think I have been brainwashed by the mages, I assure you my thinking is mine own. I took the liberty of safeguarding myself before I took on this task. May I present, Fenris.”

Fenris froze, and shot Sebastian a sharp look of confusion, as Sebastian continued. “Fenris is from Tevinter, where he was enslaved by a magister. He broke free, and was hounded halfway across Thedas. He has more reason to hate and distrust magic than anyone. Ask him yourselves, hear what he thinks about mages.”

At first Fenris was nervous, answering curtly the councillors enquiries, but soon it became clear he harboured great resentment for the terrible magics worked against him. His voice carried with it all the anger, all the hurt, and Sebastian watched as Ackles grew increasingly uncomfortable. It confirmed that he had dealings with Tevinter, his clothes and furs often fashioned in the Tevinter style.

The councillor of coin threw up a hand, as Fenris was part-way telling of the pain he’d suffered in receiving his lyrium brands. “Yes yes, you poor elf, but what has this to do with anything…?”

“You’ll agree that Fenris has had a hard life due to magic and mages.”

“Yes but— ”

“So it follows he will be vigilant against any threat from a mage. I have kept him at my side, to make sure I do not grant the mages power above the Templar, nor give them opportunity to act against Starkhaven. I trust in his judgement, and have relied upon him to tell me should he think I am putting myself or Starkhaven at risk. Should I start to act out of character, or show any signs of having been affected by blood magic, I do not doubt that Fenris will stop me.”

“What’s to say he won’t be thralled as well?” 

“Not only does he have a great deal of experience of blood mages and the way they operate, and so know how to protect himself, but his brands grant him resistance to magic, including blood magic.” Sebastian took a breath, and looked to Fenris, “I would appoint Fenris to my side, to guard against the possibility I might be controlled or even swayed. The mages may be able to convince me of their plight, but they’ll have little luck with Fenris. I can personally vouch for his prowess in battle, and owe him my life several times over. I would give him rank, more than that of a mere bodyguard, and vow that I will listen should he disagree with any of my plans and actions. He would be an equal partner, and ensure that the mages will be dealt will in manner not like to put Starkhaven in danger.”

Fenris’s eyes widened at Sebastian’s proposal, and Yegor shook his head.

“An elf, moreover, an elf _you_ brought into Starkhaven, is hardly a suitable candidate.”

“I think he is perfect.” Sebastian said, “No-one of Starkhaven knew me in Kirkwall, save him. No-one else will be able to read my mannerisms and tell if there is a change. You want someone to watch over me and make sure I have not been tainted by blood magics, well, he has been doing that for weeks now. And he is someone I will listen too, for I have the greatest respect for him.”

“This is ridiculous… We came here today to get Sebastian to stop meddling with the mages, not allow someone else to start.” Yegor complained, his fingers twitching to release the guards upon the prince, but so far unable.

“My meddling as you call it… what exactly do you take objection to? The Templar are happy, the magi are happy, and the townspeople are happy. Where is the issue?”

Yegor scowled, face screwed up tight, making his voice coarse “You risk Starkhaven! Trust the magi, and you will doom us all.”

Sebastian gestured to Fenris, fighting to keep from smiling in triumph.

Fenris looked to Yegor, then to Goren, and quietly spoke; “I do not trust mages.”

“Exactly.” Sebastian agreed.

Goren, his head seeming to sit heavy upon his shoulders, placed his chin over his bridged fingers, elbows propped upon the table. He waved the guards to stand down.

“That is enough. Yes, there are risks, but it seems that Sebastian has taken every possible measure to address and minimise them. He has the right of it, the people are _happy_ , and surely that is not such a terrible thing. And Fenris, he seems like the sort likely to keep Sebastian in check.” 

The words unspoken, _more than you could ever hope to…_ hung in the air before the councillors, and Goren peered at Fenris.

“Do you accept mister Fenris? You’d share Sebastian’s responsibilities as chantry protector, and defend Starkhaven against blood magic, and should you have any concerns, I would expect you to report to myself and the council.”

Fenris shifted, but did not look to Sebastian. To do so would have undermined him as an independent partner. He nodded, “Yes.”

Goren sat back, and looked longingly to the door. “Well, that’s settled. I thank you for your time, and shall be keeping a close eye on the proceedings…” he made to dismiss the court, when to his side, more than a little disgruntled, folded his arms.

“It is still too much a danger….” He muttered, and Sebastian, surprisingly, gave a nod.

“You are quite correct, so I shall endeavour to hire and train more Templar, to ease your mind.” 

“I suppose you’ll be wanting the coin to do so…” Ackles growled, hands clenched into fists against his thin chest.

“That shall not be necessary. The work the magi have been doing has been quite profitable. There is enough coin to not only keep the Templar and mages fed and warm, but also buy the lyrium supplies and provide the wages for the Templar. Of course, if you were to stop the mages going out and working… I would have to respectfully request the money from you. For sake of the city.”

Ackles made no attempt to hide his displeasure, as he was forced to concede. Again, there was no way he could refuse, Sebastian had made his case, and made it well. 

Before any of his councillors could suffer the heart attack Sebastian seemed intent on inflicting upon each of them, Goren hastily called a close to the court council. Fenris, wearing a face that told he was going to have _words_ with Sebastian, said nothing as he walked back to their house, only pausing to make sure Sebastian was following.

As the door clicked shut, he turned, not exactly angry, but more surprised, bewildered.

“You might have mentioned you intended to put me on the spot like that….” 

“Your answers needed to be honest, and unrehearsed. They needed to hear the hatred in your voice; it reassured them that you would not go easy on the mages, nor be swayed by them.”

“You made me a partner!”

“You’ll be doing exactly the same work as you have been; only now you’ll get recognition. I only the council aware of the efforts you’ve made, and that with you at my side, they need not fret over blood magics or mage trickery. And,” Sebastian blinked slow, and meaningful, “I rather like the idea of being able to call you my partner in public….”

Fenris’s frown faltered, as he found it hard to stay cross with the archer. “You can be insufferably manipulative sometimes… Tell me, when did you decide I’d play such a part in your plan?”

“The night I thought of it.” Sebastian spoke through a smile, carefully tempered not to look too pleased with himself, “Everything I said was true Fenris, there is no-one I trust more, and should you ever disagree with me, I would want you speak your mind, and I shall listen, and together we will find a solution.”

“Oh? Then I feel I ought to mention, I have a serious issue with the way things currently stand…” Fenris’s eyes gleamed bright, as he started to share in Sebastian’s smile “You are not at this moment kissing me, and I’m afraid I have to object to that.”

“Well, allow me to remedy the problem.” Sebastian said, stepped forwards and kissed him, first gentle, then, as he felt the blood pulse within him, with slightly more pressure, mouthing against Fenris’s lips. Fenris’s eyes slid shut, and he pulled himself closer.

“However,” Sebastian said, breaking away, “I feel I should like more than kissing, nice as that is.”

Fenris looked over Sebastian, his gaze lingering on Sebastian’s groin, as if he could see the pulse of blood flooding the area. He licked his lips.

“I think…. We might be able to reach compromise….” He said, softly, before casually walking into the bedroom, trusting Sebastian to follow. 

Sebastian’s eyes tore themselves from the sight of Fenris’s lean rear sauntering away, and cast them upwards. 

“Maker… thank you….” He breathed quietly, then with more than a little hurry, went through to the bedroom, shutting the heavy door behind them.

 

****

In the following months, even though winter came creeping through the streets, Starkhaven found cheer in its new prosperity. Food was plentiful, thanks in part to the magi attending the grain silos and barns and ridding them of rats and mice, and keeping what food was harvested cool so it lasted long into the cold months. Fires burned strong, keeping both the smiths and craftsmen in work, as well as the streets clear of ice and snow. The populace lost their fear, slow but surely. There were more Templar, but hardly needed, as the people came to accept the mages, and the skills and talents they brought to the common folk. Managed by Sebastian, and stationed around the city rather than dogging the steps of a mage, the Templar had more time to themselves, and many found renewed faith in the Maker, spending their time helping in the chantry. 

Due to the number of Templar now providing soup to the needy, or attending the tasks on the chantry board, the people came to see the men who wore the helms as more than faceless creatures who would cut down anything and anyone between them and an apostate. Slowly, the Templar became respected, and were greeting in the streets by smiles and warm acknowledgements.

There were some inns and taverns that held on to their prejudice, but the mages and Templars soon learnt to avoid such establishments, and take their coin elsewhere. Mostly, stall owners and businesses came to appreciate their new customers, whether they wore skirts and armour or robes. 

The circle was soon finished, and the mages and Templars moved in from the dungeons. Dores, was made First Enchanter, by vote of the mages. Each person allowed their own set of rooms in the houses, Templar included. Space was set aside for magical experimentation, the Templar always on hand to dispel magic should the need arise. The people had no objection to the close proximity of the magi to their own homesteads, since mages had been granted free reign to wander the city, and no mishaps had occurred. A hospital was set up, within the grounds of the Starkhaven circle, so that the mages with a gift for healing could make well the peoples.

Word spread across the land and the Starkhaven circle became known as a place of sanctuary, mages going willingly to the circle to have a place free from the fear of the towns and cities. With more magi, and a greater range of talents to utilize, people started to come up with new ways for magic to serve, such as granting the city guards magical armour, or shaking the earth beneath two great stones to grind grain when the waterwheels were frozen in the winter.

Starkhaven thrived.

With great reluctance, the court council had to agree that Sebastian had done all he said he would, and more. There were no escapes to report, even though Sebastian himself had seen off one young male mage who was determined to return to his home, despite the risks he faced outside Starkhaven. Hardly an escape, when he’d been walked out the gates and given a small package of food and clothes and coin, and told he was welcome to return.

Sebastian, and Fenris, refused the offers from Goren to become councillors themselves, instead focusing on maintaining what they had achieved. They worked well together, Sebastian all smiles and coaxing, while Fenris was frim but fair in ensuring rules and boundaries were upheld. They continued to share a home, for ease of defence and consulting regularly, and were rarely found alone, the pair of them a much stronger force than either of them individually.

And so the magi, and the Templar, and the townsfolk, and Starkhaven itself, lived happily ever after.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach the end of the Loopholes series.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a finished piece, that i will be uploading onto AO3 over the next few days. Enjoy!


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